Aftermath
by J Luc Pitard
Summary: Everything changes, even great wizards. How Howell copes with the aftermath. HxS Completed Story
1. Chapter 1

Author's note and disclaimer:

This is based on the book, but with a more mature concept of Howl's courting of young ladies and his moral code.

One major mistake (of mine) I've noted is that in the book, Howell goes back to blond after the funeral and makes a Hamlet joke to boot so my story starting out with him still black haired is incorrect. Anything else you note, feel free to comment on. Reviews are most welcome and I'm pleased that you're enjoying this story.

I do not own anything and write out of love of the story, not to benefit from Diana Wynne Jones' work.

000**O**000

**Chapter 1**

_In which Howl tries to be a good man_

In the land of Ingary, which has seen its fair share of odd happenings thanks to the high number of witches, wizards and magical creatures that call it home, some quite extraordinary events happened one Midsummer's Day. That day saw the end of the Witch of the Waste at the hands of an enchanted scarecrow, the happy reunion of two men with their long separated, mixed up body parts and the bludgeoning of an ancient fire demon under the roof of one of the greatest wizards in all of Ingary or indeed the world.

The Wizard Howl, or Howell Jenkins as he forever remained in his own mind, then had to placate the even more formidable Hatter family and get used to having his heart back where it belonged. The former task was eased by the assistance of his beloved, Sophie Hatter, who, despite being an unwed adult of the opposite sex, refused to be removed from under his roof. He dared to hope she might also help him with the latter, considering it was she who had held his heart in her hands and willed him to keep living. His young apprentice, Michael had asked to accompany the crowd back to the home of Sophie's disapproving stepmother due to his attachment to the youngest Hatter girl, Martha. (Who Michael still called 'his' Lettie for some reason.) The real Lettie, the middle daughter and until recently the reluctant focus of Howell's considerable charm, didn't uphold her stepmother's argument that Sophie should come home with them as Lettie was under the weight her own crush on another wizard, one part of the previously co-joined men, Wizard Ben Suliman. The King of Ingary's brother, Prince Justin was the other half, but he declined the invitation to the Smith mansion as he needed to let his brother know the happy outcome of his botched rescue attempt.

In the wizard's private retreat, two long fingers swirled scented oils in the bathwater as Howell's multi-track mind pondered the events of the day, calculated possible outcomes, weighed additional responsibilities and kept track of the multitude of spells keeping his almost ideal household going. It had been a busy day, to say the least, but that evening found him relaxing in a tub full of hot water, courtesy of a fire demon, formerly under contract to the wizard but now a free agent. Howell's right hand rubbed a circle on the left side of his bare chest. He scanned the shelves of bottles and packets of neatly arranged and forever ruined beauty spells and sighed. Sophie preferred things "natural" he knew, where his inclination was to disguise himself. Ironic then that she'd been the one to come into his life hidden. A beautiful young woman hidden as a shriveled old crone, she seemed bent on turning his life upside down. Howell slid down under the surface of the water keeping his eyes open to look at the clean bathroom from a different vantage point. A distorted image of the familiar room floated past him. His life was like this now, familiar, but distorted. Howell blew bubbles and watched as little goldfish swam from them. He poked them with his finger and smiled as they popped. Simple illusion, but it always made him laugh, producing more bubbles, more goldfish. The water felt lovely and he sighed as he reached up to pour more hot water. A burst of cold hit his scalp and, shivering, he cursed Calcifer. His best friend, the amoral demon was sending him a not so subtle message to finish up. Since the tub was still soothingly warm, Howell sat up and began the real task of cleaning himself before bed. He'd missed his usual routine in the morning, so it was important to feel clean and beautiful again before seeing Sophie. Happily ever after, he thought, should really begin with their first night together. Howell rubbed the washcloth down one arm and then the other. She'd looked so lovely in her rage against their common enemy today. His little May Day mouse. He'd lost her that day in Market Chipping and found her again today, Midsummer's Day. Howell washed his chest and stomach, the cloth stopping as he moved his hips to get more comfortable. If tonight was to be her first time, he wanted to be clean all over.

Once done, dry and happy with his reflection, Howell finally felt ready to see Sophie. An hour, not too long he hoped. Emerging from the bathroom like a butterfly from its chrysalis, Howell casually threw back the hanging sleeves on his black suit before noticing that he was not being watched by his beloved Sophie at all, but by the orange flaming eyes of Calcifer. "Ah," Howell said, crossing the room without any further attempts at seduction.

"Howl, we need to talk," the blue fire said.

"Can it wait? I was hoping..."

Calcifer made a face. To anyone else, it might have looked quite as evil as it was intended, but Howell had, until this very afternoon, a bond with the demon that merged them magically. They knew each other's nature as well as any two creatures could. There was no malice in the creature. Simply put, Howell thought, Cal was what he was, powerful and inhuman, but not evil. "I'm sure I know what you were hoping and I also know that we need to talk now," Calcifer said.

Howell sighed as he perched himself gracefully on the stool near the hearth. "Fine then, but be brief."

"Well, that's something. The great wizard Howl will talk to me." Calcifer ignored the look that passed over Howell's face and hurried on, "I don't have to stay here, you know."

Howell smiled fondly. "Of course, but you came back and we appreciate it."

The fire settled slightly. "Well okay. I'm willing to share my power and keep the place going so long as I'm here." They both knew that would be the case regardless. As soon as Calcifer returned, his power added to Howell's just as it had done under the contract. The demon gestured around his hearth, saying, "But I'm not going to be trapped here like I was. You know I want to go where and when I want to."

Howell resisted the smile that he felt. So that was the big thing Calcifer wanted to get off his chest? He had as much trouble with confrontation as Howell if that was the case. "Granted," Howell said.

"Well... good. Just so we know that," Calcifer looked uneasily at the curtained area under the stairs that had until today been Sophie's nook. "Well, uh, then there's Sophie. I need to know... what your plans..." he waved his spindly fire arms, "you know... for the future." He flinched from the look on Howell's face.

"What is that to you?"

A silence fell on the room that made Howell realize he'd given the wrong answer. He looked around. "Where is she?"

"Gone to bed, lover boy." Calcifer's voice was naturally cynical, so Howell took no offense at the tone. Still, he was confused. When he'd left she seemed as smitten as a man could hope for, after all. She'd implied that she was his as much as he was hers.

"In my room?" he asked, his tone still somewhat hopeful. A snort answered him from behind the heavy sheets that divided Sophie's sleeping area under the stairs from the rest of the living area before Calcifer could. "And what is that supposed to mean?" Howell called out loudly to her before he could stop himself.

Sophie stuck her head out from between the curtains, ginger hair falling around a pretty face with a somewhat familiar look of moral superiority. Howell inhaled sharply, still surprised to see her face unlined and lovely after nearly a month of looking at her as an old woman. He recovered himself. "You don't need to stay in that small space anymore, Sophie." He offered her his hand as he stood up, but she gave him one of her odd looks and kept her hands clutching the drapes.

"I don't mind," a wariness crept into her voice, "just where did you intend for me to sleep?"

Had he misunderstood? Earlier she'd seemed solid in her love for him. Earlier she'd agreed to move upstairs. He looked at Calcifer when he heard a log spit as it burned, a sound that meant the demon was laughing to himself. The fire demon had gone into hiding. Sophie risked her life for Howell's happiness and she'd stood up to her family to remain with him, that put some confidence into his voice as he looked into her beautiful blue-gray eyes. "In my bed."

Sophie's face flushed, though in anger or embarrassment Howell couldn't tell. "Don't you try that on me, Howl Jenkins! I know all about you. I know how you are with young women and don't try to deny it!" Her hands seemed to clutch the fabric even tighter around her face. "It may not be hearts or souls, but you do steal, don't you?" She referred to the erroneous rumors Howell had spread about himself to keep people from seeking out the castle. Michael had been too effective and Sophie spent untold hours looking for the hearts of his 'victims.' Howell would've laughed, but the look on her face and the sudden absence of Calcifer from the hearth checked his humor. The night wasn't cold, but with the fire gone, a strange chill descended.

Perhaps he should give up, go to bed alone, but... No, he couldn't let this be, he thought. This was to be the start of their lives together! "And what exactly are you getting at?"

"Well," she seemed to realize that she was now completely alone with him. Completely. Alone. "I mean... with girls... virgins..." Her voice dropped to a whisper.

The heart within Howell's chest was unused to sudden shocks and it gave him a sharp, painful complaint. Oh. Denial dropped away and for a second his usually busy mind cleared. He reached his hand up to his chest but tried to keep the grimace from his face. Calcifer told her, he thought. While Howell was in the bathroom, they must've talked. It made sense now. Calcifer would think she deserved the truth. So there it was. How much did he tell her? Everything? There was the truth and then there was the truth. Howell spent his adult life fleeing unpleasantness. Today the Witch laid him bare. She and her fire demon struck everywhere he was vulnerable and with Sophie's help he'd survived. Surely he was ready to confront this as well? Howell stopped shifting his feet; planting them firmly, he looked directly at her. "Yes." He hoped his voice gave the illusion of strength.

Sophie's face crumpled and ducked back behind the fabric. Howell stood only a few feet away, unsure what to do. There goes happily ever after, he thought. His reputation was that of a brutal womanizer and one half of that was accurate. Heartless Howl courted a woman until she fell in love with him, then he lost interest and abandoned her. That part Sophie had known and that part was spoken of within the castle, but what he and Calcifer left out of the discussion, originally in deference to Michael's youth, was that Howell always took a token of the woman's love with him, her virginity. The crying girls, the crazy aunts, all of the complainants when he left one "true love" after another, they all had reason to be upset. He never argued, in fact he arranged never to be present for the aftermath and Calcifer resented it. Howell knew wherever his demon friend was right now he was laughing up a storm.

"Sophie," he said, knowing his voice sounded pitiful, "please come out." He'd always hated those sheets she'd put up, but now he wanted to tear them to shreds. He took the few steps necessary to touch the fabric, but then couldn't move. "Sophie," he repeated. Her breathing was audible, close to him, fast and worried. His fingers twitched as he took one side of the drapes in his hand. "Sophie, stop this."

"Or what? Slime again?" The voice was muffled slightly.

Howell smiled at that memory. He'd forgiven her for causing his tantrum the week after her arrival. Once the gray left her hair he understood why his had chosen to turn 'red gold'; at the time he'd been too disgusted to puzzle it out. On her, it was lovely. Howell let the rough fabric fall from between his fingers. With a wave of his right hand, the barrier between them was no more.

Sophie had indeed been standing mere inches away from him, but she now backed up against her bed with a look of panic on her face. Howell watched her as if that fear had nothing at all to do with him. Why should it? She was perfectly safe from him. He'd never hit her had he? Never harmed her at all, despite all her provoking. Sophie in her terror was every bit as beautiful as she'd been when she gazed calmly on him in love. She wore a chemise typical of this world, a white gown with an inset yoke that rose up to a high necked collar with tiny pearls, currently unbuttoned. It was worn under dresses as well as for bed. There was the faint outline of her slender body underneath, her breasts hidden behind crossed arms. Her hair was still in its braid, except where the afternoon's excitement had freed up strands that lay framing her face in such casual beauty that he longed to run his fingers through it. Howell took one step closer, nothing separated them. Time seemed to be slowing down as his pulse and breathing sped up. Her eyes darted around him, possibly hoping Michael or Calcifer would appear. Interesting wasn't it, he thought, that she didn't resort to magic to protect herself? She was a talented and wild witch, after all. She'd stood up to the most powerful witch of their time but perhaps she realized how dangerous it would be with him? To start using magic against him would free him to do the same. Or, he dared to hope, perhaps she didn't want to stop him, perhaps she wanted this to happen as much as he did?

"Sophie," his voice darkened with passion. Almost giving in to his need, he grabbed her shoulders and searched her face for any sign of permission. Her eyelids fluttered and she tilted her face up slightly, just enough. Howell brushed his lips lightly across her tightly pursed mouth giving featherlight kisses until she relaxed. His hands moved up, cradling her face. She pressed her body against his, eyes now fully closed. Had Sophie been one of his many conquests, Howell would've pushed on but he wanted a lifetime with her and that meant building trust, keeping his desires under control. Still, he was only a man. He had to enjoy his advantage, so he tried to soak in every detail about her, the feel of her skin, the scent in her hair; he memorized her face as she responded to his kisses, her sweet lips touching skin near his mouth, oblivious to the smile on his face. Her arms were free and her hands tentatively moved around his waist. With a peck on her nose, he gently moved her away. "Come Sophie." Howell saw the confusion as she opened her eyes. "Come upstairs with me." He ran his hands down her neck, her shoulders, arms. Taking her work calloused hands from his sides, he held them to keep her from running away.

"You bewitched me," she tried half-heartedly. Sophie looked down when he laughed.

"I think you have that backwards." Howell lifted her chin with his right hand and let his left arm ease over her shoulder, guiding her out and around, toward the stairs. "Your virtue's safe," he leaned his mouth close to her ear. "Please," he breathed, "Let me hold you." Her body trembled quickly, but she smiled and didn't resist his lead until they stood in front of his bed.

"Howl?"

"Sit here." He crossed the room to his crowded dresser. Howell looked over the whole room for a second, calculating which spells to keep and which to remove. A quick look out his window showed a rainy night in Wales, but he turned his attention back to his current plan and picked up a hairbrush. He looked back and Sophie still stood at the foot of his bed, a look that threatened to turn stubborn on her face. "Here," he put his hand on her back and eased her down with his other hand already in her hair.

"Howl," she began, but he ignored her as he sat behind her on the bed and began to work his fingers through the ends of the braid, loosening it before drawing the brush through. "Those girls..."

Howell sighed and kissed the back of her head. "Cariad," he began, "that was before--"

"My sister. Howl, you... you wouldn't have..." her voice faltered as he continued to brush, silent. "Well?" Her body language showed her conflicted feelings. She was perched on the very edge of the bed, tense, ready to flee, but enjoying the attention of the brush, of his hands.

Howell sighed, burrowing his head through her hair and nuzzling her neck. His arms pulled her closer, further onto the bed. "My love," he began again, trying to find a way out of the discussion, "you smell so good."

Her neck arched to give him more skin to nibble, though her voice didn't allow him such a break. "About Lettie, Howl. You stop trying to... ooooh," she moaned as he hit a sensitive spot on the nape of her neck. Howell pulled her up to the pillows, turning her without resistance. He settled her along his fully clothed body. One of his arms cradled her head and the other hugged her around her waist as she lay facing his chest. Without conviction, she added, "you're a bad man, Howl Jenkins."

"Wicked, or so I've been told," he murmured to her hair. An Ingary girl in a Welshman's bed, he thought, what could be better? He wanted to feel her against him, but reminded himself to take it slow. He shushed her next comment. "I promise we'll have our talk," he said, "but not now." Having her so close, he was sure he couldn't possibly drift off, every nerve in his body seemed to want to tell him about her movements, but the events of the day took their toll. The family, the Witch, the demon, the dying, the proof of love, all of the excitement took its toll and their bodies succumbed to sleep.

000O000

A/N: Language disclaimer: Welsh is the oldest of the Celtic languages in use today. It is a beautiful and difficult language and I've done the best I can, but as a non-native speaker, errors will occur. Feel free to alert me to any that you find. Pronunciation isn't always what you'd expect and there are letters that don't have an equal in English. You can find many good resources on the web. I particularly like the BBC's for information on learning the language. If I've missed any translations, let me know.

Cariad: Beloved


	2. Chapter 2

Author's note and disclaimer:

This is based on the book, but with a more mature concept of Howl's courting of young ladies and his moral code.

One major mistake (of mine) I've noted is that in the book, Howell goes back to blond after the funeral and makes a Hamlet joke to boot so my story starting out with him still black haired is incorrect. Anything else you note, feel free to comment on. Reviews are most welcome and I'm pleased that you're enjoying this story.

I do not own anything and write out of love of the story, not to benefit from Diana Wynne Jones' work.

000**O**000

**Chapter 2**

_In which Michael isn't the only one to be confused_

Some people are morning people. Such creatures rise with the sun to begin their honest day's labor with songs in their hearts. Howell Jenkins was not a morning person. He lay stretched out on his back. The only sign of life was one hand fumbling about before pulling a fluffy pillow over his head. Part of a sleeve caught behind him and he struggled before freeing it and stretching the arm crosswise over his head, pillow and all. A few minutes later he rolled over onto his stomach, the pillow muffling his complaints and keeping the Welsh sun that slanted in his bedroom window out of his eyes. After a few more minutes he raised his head from its soft cocoon and blinked perplexedly down at his black clad body. That's right, he remembered, black... I'm still in mourning for dear Mrs. Pentstemmon. My hair's probably still that doleful color as well, he continued, pulling a lock into view, but why am I wearing clothes at all? He scratched his head, no hangover so he hadn't been drunk. He looked around the room, everything looked normal, yet he was dressed for the day? Howell usually slept nude, or wearing boxers and possibly a shirt as he had since Sophie came to stay. Sophie! He sat bolt upright, right hand moving to his chest, to the constant rhythm of his restored heart. Where was she? Howell pushed aside the quilts and blankets, slid into slippers and ran down the stairs. "Sophie?" He jumped the last few stairs and swung into her area beneath the stairs, "Sophie?" He shouted in the yard, her workroom and even ran up to the store, but all were empty. As he slumped back through the broom closet, he heard sharp laughter from the hearth.

"Very smooth, very dignified," Calcifer taunted.

Howell hung his head, dragging himself and a kitchen chair up to the fire. "I was wrong," he moaned, flinging his body into the chair.

"Can I get a recording of that? Seriously?" the demon asked, pulling a log over. The two sat in silence for several minutes before Calcifer cleared his proverbial throat. "Ahem, Howl?" There was no answer and the demon began to bounce somewhat in the fire and lean over to look at the floor around the wizard. "Earth to Howl?" He took the sideways glance from the man in the chair as a positive answer. "Hookay, you do know she's outside, don't you?"

Howell jumped to his feet. "Cal! You could've told me!"

"Sit down, Howl. She'll be back in a few minutes. Did you think she'd left? She's out getting flowers or something. Idiot."

Howell nodded, walking over to the door. But, after checking that it was purple down, he walked back to sit by his old friend, relieved, but still jumpy.

"You got it bad, pal! Look at yourself, you haven't even shaved!" The demon stretched his face up in an imitation of Howell's. His green hair and pointy teeth spoiled the effect. "I never would've let you keep that soft heart if I'd known it would do this to you," he said. Both of them knew the lie in that. After meeting the Witch of the Waste, they'd seen their future together and it was bleak. Without needing to explain the change of topics, Calcifer continued, "You know that trick they used? The shell thing?"

Howell nodded, his attention settling fully on the demon. The woman, Miss Angorian, had replaced his nephew's English teacher in Wales and entered the moving castle successfully several times, but she was the Witch of the Waste's fire demon in disguise. Howell had known about the demon, but tried to use their tactic to his own advantage and almost lost his life to it.

"Well, I've been wondering if you'd build one of those things for me." Calcifer watched, his flames billowing in an unseen draft from the Market Chipping chimney. If he had real hands, all of the fingers would be crossed. The Witch had been fully controlled by her fire demon by the end. Even together the two of them were weaker than either Calcifer or Howell. More tricks, to be sure, and fewer morals, but they were weaker and in the end it killed them.

Howell said nothing, his mind racing. Right now when Cal wanted to wander, he did so as a small ball of fire. That limited his interactions, sometimes a good thing, but Howell wanted the demon to remain linked to humanity in a positive way. Demons were dangerous creatures because they had power, but no sense of responsibility, no attachment to people, no sense of right and wrong. "We'll see," he said. More importantly, however... "Was she in good spirits this morning? Did she say anything? About last night?"

Calcifer had the upper hand and didn't intend to make it easy. He scratched his green curls before speaking. "It's hard to tell with her, but she did move some things from her bed to the workroom and she hasn't harassed me hardly at all."

"Was she angry?" Howell looked so worried that the demon took pity.

"You really thought she left you? What did you do to her? I thought you monkeys did pretty well with that romance stuff."

"If she ever really leaves me, I think I'll die." For a man given to overly dramatic statements, that one was delivered straight, with the strength of truth.

"Did you tell her that? Last night?"

Howell could've pointed out that the demon's interference had soured the night, but it was time he took responsibility for it himself. He stood up and shook his head, moving the chair back to the table and looking in the pantry. "Has she eaten?"

"No, I said she didn't make me cook," he eyed Howell's movements warily. "Can't you guys get by with bread?"

Howell spun, his characteristic grin back in place. "When we can have toast? Don't be silly, Cal." They would need to enlarge the hearth for both types of fires now that Calcifer had his freedom, but not yet. "Bend your head down." The demon grumbled but did as bidden and soon the room filled with the smells of bacon, eggs and toast.

As he was finishing, the door opened and Sophie came in, the volume of flowers in her arms obscuring her face. A small blue butterfly drifted up, then back down to the mix of colors. She deposited them in the sink and watched Howell warily. "What do you think you're doing?"

Howell smiled at her. "A very complicated love spell, I'd think that was obvious. Set the table, please," Howell directed her as he brought the pan to the table.

She looked him up and down, scowling. "You'd better not be," she said, moving quickly to get the plates and silverware in place. "Is it just the two of us?"

Howell nodded, he wasn't hungry but the chance to sit and talk with her was too tempting. He served the food and put the pan near the fire since the sink was full. The flowers would have to be sorted first and he hoped he could slither out before the washing up. Cleaning was quite beyond him. Michael had once asked why Howell didn't clean with magic and he'd replied with a lengthy and convoluted lecture on the nature and use of magic. Michael didn't ask again but since Sophie had come they'd both gotten used to the brightness, the sweeter smell of the castle. "Michael should be home soon," Howell said conversationally. He set down his fork to enjoy the look on her face. He could get used to seeing that smile over breakfast.

Sophie blushed under his gaze and tried to turn her attention back to her food. "This is quite lovely. Thank you for cooking." At the sizzling sound from the fire she added, "and thanks to you, Calcifer."

"Anything for you, Sophie," the demon said, pointedly.

They ate in a companionable silence for a few minutes. Howell was amused to catch Sophie looking at him. He hadn't primped at all that morning and knew he didn't look his best, but she was funny that way. His eye wandered the room. The wizard's workbench looked empty without the old skull holding papers down, but he was happy it had a good home again. He shuddered at what could have been his future. Impulsively he reached a hand across the table, fingers brushing the back of Sophie's hand. "Thank you for staying."

She looked at his hand moving over hers. "I..." For a moment, Howell missed the "old" Sophie. She would've come out with whatever unpleasant thought was on her mind, along with one of her ever amusing 'young man' comment. Was she reverting back to his little gray mouse? Sophie raised her eyes to his, "Thank you for letting me stay, Howl."

He smiled, enjoying the moment too much to move. She let him hold her hand, but seemed to be marshaling her courage for something. Howell didn't think he could bear another confrontation about his loose morals, so he jumped in to head her off. "The flowers, are you opening the store today?" Then kicked himself. Calcifer was right, he should be courting her, romancing her, not acting like her employer.

"Of course." She blinked and took her hand away from his. "We should talk about this new arrangement, my apprenticeship."

Howell was stunned for a second, then rose to give Calcifer the rest of his meal. "Ah, yes." That had been the tipping point in the argument with her stepmother, Fanny. Staying with him would give her the chance to study magic and train her skills. Sophie's magical talents weren't Howell's specialty, but he respected them. She could touch the living soul inside almost anything, plants, sticks, his heart. With some training, she could do wonderful things. When she'd first arrived he sensed her power, but confused it with the curse that she was hiding behind. Howell didn't know what he could teach her, but he'd give it a try. The fire demon was sulking slightly, but ate the eggs and bacon nonetheless. "Hot water, please Calcifer." Amongst the hungry noises, the demon nodded.

"You haven't bathed yet?" Sophie seemed honestly shocked. "Oh."

Howell scowled slightly and sniffed his sleeve. "Perhaps I'll do laundry as well, and no Mrs. Snips, I will not let you near my clothes." He stopped at the door of the bathroom and turned as she called his name.

"Howl?" Sophie stood, looked at Calcifer who gave her a little hand motion, then back to Howell.

He quirked an eyebrow and spread his hands. "Shoot."

"Well, when Michael comes back, my family will likely come with him." She bit her lip. "I think Lettie and Mrs. Fairfax will be heading back to Upper Folding... This would be a good chance for you to apologize." Sophie rushed through the last few words and looked hurt as Howell began to laugh.

"Whatever for?" Howell loved the surprises Sophie added to his life. He wiped a tiny tear from one eye and tried to stop laughing, but when he thought of those women running him off with the dog or talking so much he wished the dog would intervene, he'd start to laugh again. Sophie seemed to grow more and more angry.

"Howl," she sputtered, "You can't! Oh stop laughing, I'm serious! You can't have forgotten!" He did quiet down, if for no reason than to prepare a shield in case she threw something at him. She said, "My little sister. We talked about this last night."

He lifted his hands in a show of innocence. "Nothing happened, Sophie." Was she jealous?

Sophie hit her hand on the table. "That's not the point! It's what you intended that counts!"

Howell really wanted to slide into the bathroom and lock her out, but he managed to hold his ground. "But, Sophie, I courted her to find out about you." Technically true, if you counted the last few weeks. "I'd better get cleaned up." He put his hand on the door behind him.

"Don't slither out of this, Howl! I want you to apologize to her and while you're at it, you could apologize to all the girls you tricked."

Howell's eyes widened and his jaw dropped. Even Calcifer looked at Sophie in a new light. "Whoa, that's a lot of apologies," the fire demon said.

Sophie's chin was thrust out and there was a gleam in her eye that Howell was unwilling to tangle with. "If you'll excuse me," he said, but Calcifer and Sophie missed most of his polite exit due to the speed he was moving and the sound of the door slamming behind him.

Howell heard Calcifer's voice through the pipes, "That went well." He nodded his head and tried to stop shaking.

By the time Howell felt well enough to rejoin his household, he'd come to two very important realizations. One was that Sophie was right and two was that he did not want to admit that to her. He transported himself directly to his bedroom to change, pulled out and blackened his gray and scarlet suit, then stood quietly on the landing and listened to the excited voices in the kitchen. He fancied he looked a bit like Hamlet in mourning.

Hamlet, wasn't he a blond? A Dane? Yes, he thought so, and forced himself to descend into the belly of the beast. And mad, perhaps that would work? No, he argued as a means of distracting his thoughts from the embarrassing topic of apologies, Hamlet's madness led to tragedy. For once, he was pleased that his dramatic entrance was not noticed. He took in the scene unfolding in his living room. Mad Hatters were everywhere, Martha entranced Michael who was slicing pieces of a decadent Cesari's cake, Lettie was deep in discussion with Mrs. Fairfax and Sophie seemed to be listening to her stepmother, Fanny. The other wizard and fellow Welshman, Ben Suliman was not present. Howell hoped the man had come to his senses and fled the Hatters. Calcifer was ignoring the proceedings except for occasional green sparks to remind everyone that he existed. Howell might also have been ignored had it not been for the insistent knocking that began at the very moment he stepped on the landing.

"Mansion door," Calcifer announced over the din.

Michael leaped up before Sophie who was closer and he opened the door onto a very fancy entourage from Kingsbury. Howell recognized the lead personage as the Duke of Festingsburg, a notable only due to marriage and a cheat at kneeds, a card game played at court. The Duke addressed Michael, although he tried to get a look inside as he did so. Michael quite rightly blocked his way. "Is the the the Master of the house, the Royal Wizard, Pendragon at home? I bear a message from the King." He clearly felt this would be impressive. Had there been anyone but the Hatters there, it might have impressed someone. As this depressing thought settled in, Howell pressed his way through the various sisters and mothers and made his way out to stand behind his apprentice.

"I'm sorry, the Master is indisposed--" Michael began before Howell put his hand on the dark haired teenager's shoulder and interrupted.

"It's no trouble, Michael." Indeed, he would've invited the Duke inside to balance the estrogen level had the man not been such a bore.

"I hope we find you in good health, good Master Pendragon. His Royal Majesty wishes to send his warm regards to you and to all under your protection."

Howell realized that this would be one of the long ceremonial greetings he'd endured while Ben was missing. He could see the roll of parchment under the Duke's arm and was waiting for a moment's pause so he could snatch it and slam the door, but the man was speaking again after the slightest nod from Howell who was really just trying to open his mouth and answer.

"As to the recent events happily concluded..." As the man droned on, Howell's mind began to seek a way out of this situation. "...And within the borders of Ingary as well as their implications outside our glorious nation..." Fight fire with fire, Howell concluded and whispered to Michael who smiled and nodded. "...Indeed our Royal Majesty, the King of Ingary would like to..." Michael moved back into the castle living area while Howell nodded and smiled to the Duke. "...and extends his most sincere and heartfelt of salutations."

As Mrs. Fairfax made her somewhat confused way to Howell's side, he turned a charming look on both of his guests. "Duke of Festingsburg, may I present the good Witch, Mrs. Anne Fairfax of Upper Folding. Mrs. Fairfax, this is Lord Walter Wimblebourne, the Duke of Festingsburg." Howell made a grab for the parchment and quickly dashed up the stairs and slid to the hearth, passing a confused Sophie in the process.

Even without real lips, Calcifer managed a whistle. "Nice distraction," the fire demon said. Howell managed a half bow as he tore open the royal seal. He could hear the blur of competing voices from the doorway and was briefly alarmed at what sounded like an invitation to come in, but even the Duke could figure out that he was outmatched in the talking department and beat a hasty retreat. As the door closed, all eyes fixed on Howell.

"What is it?" Sophie asked, trying to look over the papers as Howell held them to the fire for light to read by.

"None of your business, Mrs. Long Nose," he joked. On hearing a gasp from his prospective mother in law, he reconsidered the humor, but a look at Sophie showed that she ignored it. Howell was hoping the papers would reveal an order from the King as he could use the cash. He wasn't sure where his money had gone, but he had to start thinking of the future of his family now and work meant money. No such luck. His presence was requested, blah, blah, blah on the morrow, blah, blah, ceremony, blah, blah, Prince Justin and the nation rejoices; Howell skimmed the document then passed it to Sophie. "Nothing important."

"Howl, this is a royal summons," she rightly pointed out.

"Ah, but look at the fine print, Sophie," he countered. "'If the Royal Wizard is otherwise occupied by the duties of his office, he shall be excused from the proceedings.'"

"Are you otherwise occupied, Mr. Howl?" Lettie spoke up and Howell couldn't help but feel a slight blush as he heard her harsh tone. It was the tone she most often used with him when he went courting which reminded him...

"Well, not at present, but one can never tell about magic." He didn't meet her eyes.

"Quite right." Mrs. Fairfax took a deep breath indicating much more would soon follow, but Martha lifted the cake box and announced that she would be serving anyone who wanted cake with their tea. Howell hadn't even noticed Calcifer bowing to heat the water until she spoke, but Sophie was seeing to everything. Did they even have enough cups, Howell wondered, but couldn't work up the effort to care. He tried to catch her eye, and Sophie glared at him when he finally managed. Was she really so angry about the King's invitation?

As they ate, Sophie slipped out to tend the store and Howell tried at one point to get near Lettie, but stopped as soon as he received her stepmother's angry look. Really! These women were quite impossible, he thought. Mrs. Fairfax still smiled sweetly and Michael was a kind face, but even little Martha seemed put out about something. Howell stood apart as dishes were collected and goodbyes and fond hugs were passed around. Sophie and Michael walked the ladies out and Howell overheard Mrs. Fairfax saying that she and Lettie would be leaving by hired buggy at a rendezvous stand between the mansion and the Smith's residence. His odds were better if he caught her alone, or nearly so considering Mrs. Fairfax's intellect, Howell smiled at the thought. Sophie need never know.

Calcifer congratulated Sophie on a less disastrous family gathering than yesterday and she smiled at him. Pointedly ignoring Howell, she turned to the sink and began noisily splashing water and soap onto dishes and glassware. Michael turned a curious eye toward Howell just in time to see him disappear.

The trick to teleportation is to use it sparingly and only across short distances. It could quite turn one's stomach. Or maybe it was the cake, Howell mused as he leaned on the hitching post at the buggy stop. He soon saw dust billowing along the road as the small coach arrived, the driver nodded his thanks as Howell tied the horses loosely. Once he realized Howell wasn't a passenger, the old man turned to his watch and logbook. Soon two figures could be seen trundling along the path to the west. The sun was hanging low in the sky, just enough to flare into his eyes as he watched them. Each carried a small patchwork satchel and was followed by a larger suitcase enchanted to float along behind. They were deep in conversation, or so it would appear. Chances were that only one of them was conversing. He stepped out to greet them. Lettie's face reddened in that beautiful way that showed both great ire and great facial structure.

"Hello again, Wizard Howl," Mrs. Fairfax began, but Howell quickly interjected.

"Hello to you both. Miss Hatter, I must speak to you." He reached for her hand, but she stopped walking and pulled back from him, shock registering on her face.

"The bare cheekiness of you, Howl Jenkins!" Her luggage bumped up against her, nearly knocking her into him as Mrs. Fairfax smiled knowingly and walked calmly toward the buggy. She whistled and Lettie's luggage drifted to her as well. The driver hurried down to assist her. Howell turned back to face Lettie's wrath. "I knew you would come slinking along. How dare you! I'm still not interested. My sister deserves--"

Heaven save me from this family, he thought as he began the speech he'd prepared all day. "My dear Miss Hatter, I apologize for the dishonest attention I paid to you. You were right to spurn my advances; my intentions were impure from the outset. They changed once I fell in love with your sister, but that is no excuse for my use--"

"Stop!" Lettie looked at Howell with genuine amazement on her face. "Go back, what did you say?"

"I'm sorry, Lettie." He looked in her eyes, so like Sophie's only without the humor and love. "I'm saying that I'm sorry." Howell didn't try any ruse to cover how hard this was for him. Perhaps this was what he had to get used to now? Did Sophie honestly intend for him to confront every single ex-lover? Do whores and hookers count? He never forgot a "true love," but as for the rest? Perhaps Calcifer could help?

"No, after that... did you just say you love her?"

"Of course!" It was Howell's turn to look shocked. "Dear God, weren't you there yesterday?! Of course I love her. I've loved her almost since the day she came to me."

A smile played on Lettie's face, a natural and guileless look that Howell had only seen her use with the damned dog-man. It was a nice look for her and some part of him hurt that it was directed at him only when he declared for another. "Oh, there is some speck of good in you," she said as she pulled him in for a hug. Howell was bewildered, but Mrs. Fairfax called to Lettie and she released him to run for the stairs. "Goodbye, Wizard Howl!" She waved and pushed her way into the small coach door just in time for the driver to click his tongue at the two horses. Howell stood staring at clouds of dirt, stunned.

Howell walked back to the mansion entrance, anger twisting in his chest the closer he got to home. He'd meant the walk to cool down, but the more he thought of their glances and glares, the more outraged he became. What kind of monster did they think he was? It wasn't as if he didn't love each and every young lady he'd taken the virginity of! He did. He really hoped each one would be the right one. At least for a time. It was as close to real love as he had ever known... until now. Certainly that wasn't his fault, in fact the fault could be said to lie with the ladies. If they'd all been like Sophie or Lettie he wouldn't have kept on. No doubt he'd have been buried back behind the beehives in Mrs. Fairfax's garden instead. Then what of Calcifer? The poor demon had put his trust in Howell to protect him, keep him alive, he couldn't have done that from under the clover! Logic was making his head hurt, so when the living area was empty, he went straight to his room, staying there through dinner.

Hours later, Howell pushed back his chair as he heard Michael's door close for the night. Every conceivable surface of Howell's desk was covered with parchment, some with dolls and body parts sketched in the margins. Even the ones that weren't doodled on had odd symbols and formulae worked on them. Howell wasn't pleased with the result. He stacked them and waited for the faint moaning of the teenager next door to end before Howell opened his own door. He crept down the stairs, noticing new fabric covering Sophie's nook. A brief feeling of hurt hit him before he remembered how annoyed he was with her and her whole family. Howell walked confidently toward Calcifer and tossed him the stack of notes.

"Yum," the fire crackled. "Hey, these are potent!"

"They should be," Howell answered without looking at him. The new curtain was a nice print. It reminded him of the sheets on his own bed. His brow furrowed as a new and sharper anger hit him. "Sophie!" He strode toward her sleeping area. In the past when Calcifer held his heart, he also absorbed excess emotions, devouring them like he did anything else. Now anger flowed through Howell's body, his mind. It flushed out all normal thought and he wasn't sure how to release it. Hands formed into fists and he tore the drapes down. The sound of the curtain rings clinking to the ground resounded in the quiet room. Howell panted with anger, towering over her in his rage as she stopped moving, her brush stilled over her ginger hair. "Get up to my bed," he said, his voice low, the barely restrained rage audible in it. Doors opened upstairs with two loud bangs.

"Howl, cut it out!" Calcifer called. "Don't make me come up there!" The fire demon could burn the house down if he touched wooden floors or beams without controlling his temperature. A part of Howell's mind noted this, but the rest was burning with his own anger and possessiveness. He stared down at Sophie who shivered; her eyes were wide but she didn't make any attempt to do as he said. Calcifer continued to taunt, "C'mon, you coward, leave her alone. Pick on someone your own size!"

Howell spun at that, danger flashing in his eyes. Electricity crackled between his hands, power words formed in his mind and throat. He stared hard at the orange flames that ran like a torrent up the chimney. Good memories of Calcifer danced in the fire and Howell was able to regain control. Slowly at first, but then the danger had passed. He shook his head, a small laugh falling weakly out of his mouth. "Thanks, Cal." The demon sighed audibly and settled back into the hearth, his color normal again. Howell strode to the stairs, unable to acknowledge Sophie or his ruined sheets. He passed Michael on the landing, mouth open, moving but unable to ask the questions he wanted to. Howell managed not to slam his door through an act of will, though he really, really wanted to.

The only other woman to have stirred this much anger was the Witch of the Waste and then it had been on purpose, well, for her purposes anyway.

Howell remade his bed with spare sheets and settled down with tears in his eyes. He rocked slightly, holding back the flood that threatened. He smiled sadly as he remembered Michael back before he'd hit puberty. Unless the boy was worn out, Michael used to cry most nights until sleep came. How he'd hated that sound. Howell could relate now that he had his heart back. His own parents died when he was starting university. He knew that was one reason he'd saved Calcifer. The little star seemed so afraid to die and Howell had the ability to do something about it. Their loss only a few years old, but with Calcifer by his side, pain and all other emotions dulled. Now a new pain flooded his system and he was trapped with it. He'd gotten out of control. Forget scaring her, he could've hurt her! He clutched a pillow over his head and barely heard the soft knocking at his door. Howell sat up, setting the pillow down. He felt miserable, but a sudden surge of vanity forbade him to be seen as such.

"Howl?" Her voice was as soft as a whisper, but it sounded as sad as his own.

"Go away," he said, his voice calm and even. The last thing he wanted to see was that fear in her eyes, ever again.

The door opened cautiously. He could have locked it, magically shielded it; he could've kept her out any number of ways. "You told me to come up, so which is it?" She stood, hands on her hips, her face hard to read.

He let some of the pain he felt come out in a raspy, "Come. Stay. Please, Sophie." Seeing her now, Howell was sure he would die if he didn't get his arms around her. She closed the door and turned back to him. Her white shift was modestly buttoned up to its peak, a look that women rarely wore as the collar fell partly open over their outer gown in the day and at bedtime it was fully open to be less restrictive. To Howell it was beautiful, a balance between her love for him and her fear. Fear that she'd overcome to be with him. She walked to the side of his bed and he moved to make space. Perhaps he could do with less on his bed. He'd pushed his stuffed animals and trinkets off yesterday, but he'd have to show her he could compromise. Maybe the bedding was a tad excessive. He threw several blankets and a pillow to the floor.

Sophie hesitated when she saw he was only in an Ingary silk shirt and English boxers. Considering that was a nod to her delicate senses, Howell decided to draw the line. He answered her look with his arms, pulling her to the fluffy bed without resistance. "I'm so sorry, Sophie," he crooned into her neck as soon as he was touching her. "I never meant to scare you. I have to learn..." His tears seemed to touch off hers and she clung to him. At some point they both slept, although he couldn't point to when and didn't notice as the candles burned out in their lanterns.


	3. Chapter 3

Author's note and disclaimer:

This is based on the book, but with a more mature concept of Howl's courting of young ladies and his moral code.

One major mistake (of mine) I've noted is that in the book, Howell goes back to blond after the funeral and makes a Hamlet joke to boot so my story starting out with him still black haired is incorrect. Anything else you note, feel free to comment on. Reviews are most welcome and I'm pleased that you're enjoying this story.

I do not own anything and write out of love of the story, not to benefit from Diana Wynne Jones' work.

000**O**000

**Chapter 3**

_In which a wizard is engaged_

The morning in Wales was gray, drizzly and not yet started. In Ingary, where a window in an ominous moving castle was letting in the dull, gray Welsh dawn, a wizard was waking up. Howell was not used to being awake at such an early hour and he was not used to being held down by a beautiful woman drooling over his body nor to feeling so happy. He shifted her slightly, nestling her under his left arm. She didn't wake. He touched the wet circle on his shirt and smiled. Silk. He'd have to see about that before the water stain set. His finger moved to her face, tracing the outline of her lips. He felt her body move closer to his. Small movements, sleepy movements, loving movements. He rolled to his side, giving the top of her head a little kiss. Howell watched her smile and giggle, a thing he never would've imagined coming from Sophie a few days ago. She remained asleep and he debated how far to push. His body had a ready answer. It would survive denial, though it wasn't accustomed to it. He nearly jumped when she moved her thigh against him, rubbing slowly up, then back down. Just as he considered reconsidering his restraint, she stretched one arm out and yawned, smiling up at him. The day might not have dawned sunny, but her smile more than made up for that, Howell thought. "Good morning, cariad."

She had a dreamy look to her eyes and let her arm fall across his chest with a soft thump. Howell's eyebrows raised, but he couldn't let a chance like this slip by, so he returned the gesture, letting his hand trace the line of her body, from her shoulder down to her thigh and back up again. Sophie burrowed her head into his chest, eyes closed again and murmuring words in some sleep induced language. Damn, he thought, he shouldn't take advantage of her. His hand quested up and down along her body until he forced himself to leave it on her shoulder. He couldn't have gone back to sleep if his life depended upon it; his body was wide awake and fully attuned to hers. He twined his feet with hers, taking contact with any bare skin he could manage. She rubbed her clothed body against his, forcing him to swallow the moans he felt rumbling in his chest. How could such innocent touch drive him insane? He shook his head as her hand began to explore the fabric of his shirt. He watched understanding flood into her face, followed quickly by a blush. She looked down and he stopped breathing for a second; would she run away? Sophie pulled herself up to face him, nose to nose. He stared deep onto her eyes; looking, but unable to read what he found. Howell wanted so much to kiss her. Like an answer to his prayer, she leaned closer and kissed him. A peck on the lips, but it made him so happy he wrapped both arms around her shoulders and pulled her into rolling hug, repaying her one kiss with hundreds of his own, on her face, neck and shoulders. She pushed away now, but laughing in a throaty way that sent shivers to his toes.

"Howl," she said, pleasantly. "Um, good morning?" She leaned in again and pressed her lips against his. He let her control this kiss. Her eyes were open, curious. His lips moved only when she seemed to want him to. Howell let the look in her eyes direct him and he parted his lips slightly, whispering Welsh phrases of love until her mouth relented and she gasped at the feel of his tongue on her. He didn't push, didn't force his way. Instead Howell teased her by slowly licking against her lips, then smiling at her and kissing her nose. She looked faintly annoyed, a common look on her face when she was a ninety year old woman, but it didn't sit well on her nineteen year old skin. She licked him back with a flick of her pink tongue. Good, he thought. He closed his eyes and then the short space between the two of them, his lips seeking a closer union with hers. His tongue followed hers back inside, into the warmth of her mouth. This time her gasp was buried under his satisfied hum. He teased her, running his tongue along hers, touching the roof of her mouth, laughing as her shock gave way to understanding and then to desire. A buzzing began in the back of Howell's mind. It was a sound he was quite familiar with. His multi-track mind was working on a problem and as a solution began to present itself, all of the lines of thought began to converge. Rotten timing, but...

"Paper!" He pulled himself away from her as fast as he could. "Sophie! My quill, quickly." Howell hated to destroy the moment, but was equally unwilling to risk losing this brainstorm. Sophie was on the side of the bed with his desk but she looked at him dumbly in spite of his best hand gestures miming the desperate need to write. "Sophie!" His face was excited, hazel green eyes wide open and about to give up on her ever understanding. Just as his outstretched hand began to call the materials to him, she stood up, reached and grabbed them. The net result was Sophie being dragged by a floating quill and sheaf of parchment, with the ink pot knocking her in the head. He ignored her cross mumblings as soon as the quill touched his hand. Sophie remained standing and shook her head as she left unnoticed by the wizard who was flinging ink so fast in his scribbling that drops stained the bed around him leaving a Howell sized clean spot.

A few hours later, a fully clothed wizard came down the stairs. "Michael, I'll need you in the yard."

The apprentice was picking dishes up from the table. He was dressed in his fancy suit and his face fell. "I thought we were going to Kingsbury?" Sophie, who was arranging flowers into several containers, stopped and watched Howell as well.

Howell scratched at the stubble on his chin with ink stained fingers before he answered. "We'll just send a message with our regrets, this will be much more fun! I promise. Calcifer?"

The demon didn't answer and Sophie shook her head. "He went out a few minutes ago, did you want a shower?"

"Yes, but no, that's alright. I wanted to ask his opinion on some details. Perhaps it would be better to get a woman's perspective." He smiled a killer grin at her and she blushed. Michael's stare alternated between each of them as if he couldn't believe what he saw. He shook his head and muttered as he finished the dishes.

Howell turned his attention back to Sophie. "From a woman's point of view, if you could imagine a perfect male, would he be your height or taller?"

His dry delivery caught Sophie off guard, but she stopped staring at him like he was insane and addressed the flowers instead, "I suppose I'd like him taller than me." She blushed when he scribbled that down, keeping his eyes on his paper.

"Stout or thin?"

"Oh, a bit thin, but not as underfed as you," she needled, but again he didn't react.

"Any preference regarding hair or eyes? A blond perhaps?" This time he did look up at her as she thought. Michael also turned to watch. She blushed and couldn't look at either of them.

"Is mud colored an option?" Calcifer had appeared unnoticed and his voice took all three of them by surprise.

Howell laughed, "Well, I'm not sure we'll have much control, I was just curious." A small bucket flew across the room at Howell's head, but he dodged it easily. "Sophie! A man can't be in mourning his whole life, I've got to change my hair sometime. Anyway, I think my roots are starting to show." Howell ran a hand through his hair and turned to address the fire demon, "Cal, if Michael ever finishes the dishes we'll get started on the shell." His apprentice fairly dropped what he was doing to run to him.

"What's a shell?" Michael asked, rubbing his hands dry on his velvet suit. Howell winced, but handed over a sheet of paper. "Errands?" He stood reading over the list as Howell walked toward the door to the yard.

"I'll need those as quickly as you can." Howell's hands moved in a seemingly random pattern and Michael began to disappear, but not before he was able to shout, "A doll?!"

Calcifer and Sophie both stared at Howell. The fire demon recovered quickly, shouting, "Howl, you can't be serious! A humonculous? Come on! You can do better than that!"

The wizard shook his head. Who the Hell did they think he was? Some stupid hedgerow mage who could only think on two levels? He ignored Calcifer's complaints and looked over at Sophie's bed. His sheets were folded up neatly at the foot and he walked over to them. There was a faint striped pattern to the damask, but they should do fine. His favorite Turkish cotton, high weave sheets, well, there would be some sacrifices, he supposed. Cleaned and folded. He smiled at her thoughtfulness. Without explanation, Howell picked them up and walked outside. In the yard, there were occasional burn marks in the grass. They looked like different sized feet and he knelt to examine the damage. Some were semi-circular and all had the familiar scent and aura of Calcifer. Howell frowned at them then crossed to his pile of scrap metal and got to work.

It was mid-day when Sophie came out to offer him food. "Howl," she said as she set down the simple lunch. "About the King's summons?" She paused while he crossed the yard and sat down, acting interested in the bread, cheese and ham. "I don't think you should just ignore him like that. You are the --"

"Co-Royal Magician, thanks to you." He pointed a long finger up at her and smiled when she blushed.

"Yes, well, um, what I was wondering was if we shouldn't send someone," she said.

"Ah, yes, I'd forgotten." He scratched his head. There was a reward involved. A grin formed. "What about you?"

She blushed, apparently having had a similar idea from the start. "Well..."

"Oh," Howell said. "You can't go dressed like that. Not if you're to represent our family!"

Her eyes widened as his hand came up and touched the fabric of her dress. He stood, slowly tracing the outline of her breasts and pulling her close. His fingers moved along the gown continuously. Sophie pulled back, her arms flailing against him until he laughed lightly and released her. "What do you think you're doing!" She faintly panted in her anger, but Howell took one of her fists and twirled her with it, admiring the fit of the new gown on her young body. The stitches were perfect. She looked annoyed, probably by the fact that he could do magically what she had practiced all her life with needle and thread, he thought. "Oh," she said, looking at the whole of the gown. It wasn't just in fashion, it was a whole new style. The high waist flattered her figure and tucks here and there added interest to the lay of it. The color was the same blue that she'd gotten used to, but the fabric was richer and there was a shine to it that caught the light as she continued to swirl in the sunlight, laughing lightly.

"There," he said. "Now to your hair," and he pulled her close again, burying his hands in her braids and using his leverage to urge her into a kiss by nuzzling his slightly rough face against hers. Her eyes held a trace of the earlier mistrust, but already the colors within the irises were changing. She held her breath as his lips neared, hissing it out as he nibbled. Howell felt a thrill run through him when she finally kissed him back. He opened his mouth slightly, whispering her name and she allowed him to deepen the kiss. His hands kept moving, easing her braids out and encouraging her hair to form a loose bun style he'd seen in the city not long ago. Her lips were soft and encouraging; her tongue was driving him wild with its tentative tastings of his mouth. Even when he had the hairstyle, Howell kept the kiss going, relaxing into her strong arms and enjoying her willingness. One of the warding spells alerted him to Michael's return, and Howell pushed away, panting slightly. Sophie pulled him back down within seconds, reclaiming her hold on him as he listened to the voices drifting out the open door.

"Howl! I got the things, they didn't have a boy doll... well not that I could notice--"

"Uh, he's a bit busy, kid," Calcifer said in a gentle voice. "Look around, who's missing?" Howell heard some odd hissing noises from the fire in the pause. Was Calcifer trying to mime kissing?

"What's he... oh, are they?" Michael seemed in equal measure confused and horrified. Howell imagined he could hear the teen blushing. "Last night they were fighting? I don't get it."

"Don't look at me," the demon protested. Then in a softer voice, "I think they kind of like it that way."

Outside in the yard, Howell laughed low and soft, breaking the kiss but moving to nibble his way to her ear. "I think we need to continue this later; you've places to get to and I've magic to work." He pulled back and watched her face as she came back from wherever her passion was leading.

"You barely touched your lunch," she chided him.

Ever practical Sophie, he mused. "I will."

Her hand rose to touch the hair style and she looked down at the dress again. He pulled her toward the house and she followed, but not before getting a good look at his project. "Howl? Whatever are we going to tell the King?"

"Hmm, oh, tell him it's a secret project. Perhaps you could lead him to think it's new armor?" He looked at the metal chest plate that lay in the sun.

"Oh, yes... is it?" She looked at him and back at the gleaming scrap.

Howell felt a familiar tingle in his mind. "It will be," he muttered. "Just not yet."

"I wasn't thinking of that, though." She entered the house, bustling about as normal, despite the looks of surprise Michael and Calcifer gave her new appearance. "I was wondering more about what I should tell the King and Queen about me. I can't rightly tell them I'm your mother or go as your cleaning lady."

"I thought that was obvious?" Howell sat in the chair nearest the fire. He waved one hand casually. "You're my fiancée."

Sophie seemed unwilling to breathe and the others had similarly stopped moving. Howell was the only one unaffected. He stood up with such force that Michael had to dodge the skidding chair. Howell walked over to where Sophie stood, her left hand on the table. He stood before her, feeling naked under her eyes. And not in a fun way either, he thought, it's unfair that she made him feel so vulnerable. "Happily ever after?" His voice was tight with tension. This wasn't how it was supposed to work! Howell thought vaguely of a suitor kneeling before his lady love, but pushed that out of the way. Calcifer and Michael dared not make a sound. Howell bluffed on. "Please give me your hand," he asked and Sophie was strangely compliant. He took her hand in his and with his other hand turning briefly scissor-like, cut off a lock of his hair. Howell put the hairs around her ring finger and the fibers turned from black to a dark brown. He encouraged them to twist into a circle. Since she hadn't pulled away, he bent forward to kiss the ring, enchanting it and willing it to turn into a gold band. "There," he said.

"There what?" Sophie said, her voice barely above a whisper. Protest was warring with acceptance in her eyes. She glanced at the ring. It gleamed in the light, the smooth gold betraying nothing of its origins.

Howell smiled. "Now you can go back to the King and accept whatever commendations he has in store. You're the true hero, Sophie." He pulled her to him easily and she formed her body along his, as if she knew that was where it belonged. He held her hand tightly in his. "This ring will help you get home safe afterwards." Howell's joy was so great, he was sure his heart would burst, but instead laughter began to bubble from his chest. He kissed the top of her head and she looked up at him, smiling. "I don't want you getting lost in Kingsbury again."

The lovestruck smile faded from her face, "Oh, and how will I get there?" In fleeing the Witch of the Waste, they'd cut off their doorway into the city.

What's the point of being a powerful wizard if you can't show it off? He kissed her nose and with a gesture threw open the mansion's door as a footman raised his hand to knock. "Your coach?" the man said, bewildered.

"Now hurry darling, and remember to carry yourself as the beauty you are." He let go of her and Sophie took a few steps toward the doorway, then gave him the oddest look and left.

Once the door had closed, Howell seemed to deflate, leaning against the table for support. What had he done? Others would know... his little Sophie, his sweet present wrapped in curses, would be out in the open. The rabble at the court didn't deserve her. He swept a hand along his forehead, a wrinkle imperceptibly settling in, and listened to Calcifer stage whisper to Michael, "You owe me that bucket of fat wood." His friend raised his voice, addressing Howell, "That was the dumbest thing I've ever seen you do, and that's saying a lot!"

Howell shook his head, still looking at the door. "How so?"

"The ring? Hello! What if she loses that? Think how easily it could be cursed!" Calcifer took the silence as affirmation and went on, "so how's my shell going?"

Howell thought for a moment, "I don't think it's such a risk, Cal. The Witch is gone and I can't think of anyone else who would--"

"A string of broken hearts ring a bell?"

"But there isn't a witch or wizard stronger--"

Calcifer sighed. He interrupted, speaking as if to a child, "Howl, you don't need a strong person to cast it, not if you've got something from the body of the person. You know that."

Howell waved his arm distractedly. "It's a small amount of hair. Plus, if she loses it, it'd just end up in a trade shop and I can track it easily. No one will know what it's made of unless she tells them." Unease began to creep, why would she tell anyone? Why wouldn't she? Howell knocked aside the feeling of foreboding. "Come on outside, bring those things, Michael."

000O000

A/N:Language disclaimer: Welsh is the oldest of the Celtic languages in use today. It is a beautiful and difficult language and I've done the best I can, but as a non-native speaker, errors will occur. Feel free to alert me to any that you find. Pronunciation isn't always what you'd expect and there are letters that don't have an equal in English. You can find many good resources on the web. I particularly like the BBC's for information on learning the language. If I've missed any translations, let me know.

Cariad: Beloved


	4. Chapter 4

Author's note and disclaimer:

This is based on the book, but with a more mature concept of Howl's courting of young ladies and his moral code.

One major mistake (of mine) I've noted is that in the book, Howell goes back to blond after the funeral and makes a Hamlet joke to boot so my story starting out with him still black haired is incorrect. Anything else you note, feel free to comment on. Reviews are most welcome and I'm pleased that you're enjoying this story.

I do not own anything and write out of love of the story, not to benefit from Diana Wynne Jones' work.

000**O**000

**Chapter 4**

_In which Calcifer learns what it takes to be a man_

Within a few hours, a crude metal structure stood in the grass. Howell looked on his welding with pride, Calcifer with horror. "You can't expect me to walk around like a knight from one of your books!" The flame bobbed up and down next to the wizard.

"You worry too much, Cal," he said, calmly. "First you didn't want to look like Chucky..." He gestured at a naked doll on the ground. "Now you have something against tin cans?" He smiled at the demon who hovered. "A little faith, friend."

Calcifer looked at Michael who was sprawled on the grass, exhausted. Papers were scattered about, some with scribbles, some with diagrams. The boy picked up one and held it to the fire. "I think you're supposed to end up looking like this," he said. The demon moved cautiously toward the flammable notes.

"Oh, that's not so bad," he said. Looking at Howell, he pointed to the metal man. "So how's this thing gonna become that thing?" His finger got too close to the paper and Michael jerked back the scorched picture.

"Watch out, Cal!" Michael shouted, tamping out the flame.

Howell rolled his eyes and took a deep breath. "With magic, Calcifer. I'm a wizard, it's what I do."

"Oh." The demon had the decency to sound chagrined. "Well, it's just..."

"You're excited, I know, but why don't you go back and warm up some water. Sophie should be home soon and I'm sure she'll want to clean something." Howell picked up a sheet of fabric and began to tear it into strips.

"Yeah. Hey, that's what I came out to tell you," he said. "She's late." Both Michael and Howell turned their attention to the fire demon. "And not just a little bit late."

Summer nights were the best time of the year to Howell. When he was a kid, he loved to stay out playing football or rugby sevens with pickup teams in the neighborhood. The kids would give no thought to time and there'd be a small panic when someone's parent yelled that it was past ten o'clock. Here he'd become one of those adults and he'd still given no thought to how late it was. Surely not yet eight? "Well perhaps she was such a hit, the King and Queen offered her dinner?"

"Speaking of dinner," Michael said and patted his tummy.

"There's some fruit in there, I think," Howell said. "Pass me the chalk before you go." Michael nodded and passed it over, then stayed to watch Howell as he drew a small circle, threw some sand inside it and reached for his pen knife. "Weren't you going to get something?" He looked faintly annoyed at having an audience. Calcifer came close, his heat drawing beads of sweat under Howell's collar.

"I know this one, Howl. Let me do it!" Michael gave the fire demon a wide berth and came around to look at the circle. "How come you're not doing the flashy one?"

"Looking for Sophie?" Calcifer asked.

"No," Howell said, pulling a worn map out of his jacket pocket. "I'm looking for my ring." He lay the map down on the sand, using some to anchor the edges.

"You mean Sophie's ring," the fire demon said in a voice that sounded faintly like 'I told you so.'

"Weren't you two going inside?" Howell ran the knife along his little finger, making sure there was blood on the blade, and tossed it into the circle. It arched up and landed on the inset for Kingsbury. "There, is everyone happy? Go on inside and get a cold dinner, maybe a salad or something," he said and popped the finger into his mouth.

"Nicer words were never spoken," Calcifer said as Michael nodded and ran to the door. Howell finished tearing strips out of his sheets and dunked them in a vat of nasty smelling green slime.

The rest of the evening proceeded nicely and finally Howell had Michael go call Calcifer. "We're ready for you to give it a go," the boy called from the doorway.

"I'm a bit worried," the fire demon said as he bobbed alongside Michael.

"That's natural," Howell answered.

"No, about Sophie! This thing..." He stopped where he was, stunned. "Uh... Howl? You told me to have faith, but... it's naked and... it has those dangley bits..." His blue face flushed purple as he looked at his prototype body.

"It still needs work, but once you're inside it, I think the details will smooth out," Howell said. He and Michael held their breath while Calcifer appraised it. The metal structure stood on top of a collection of symbols and the doll, now decorated with dotted lines and outfitted with a crude clay model of 'dangley bits' was lying on top of a similar series of drawings. Howell smiled a semi-crazed grin. "Well, nothing ventured, nothing gained, as they say." He squinted at the sky. There was still light, but the sun had gone down unnoticed. "Huh," he said and looked over to a circle of sand near the papers. Michael and Calcifer seemed to follow his train of thought. To stop them from asking, Howell shouted, "First things first! Calcifer, see if you can inhabit that metal model."

The fire demon bobbed toward it. "I'm not sure how," he said. Calcifer moved all around it, looking for any opening he could use.

"Stretch yourself out, put down some legs and walk inside it," Howell called. "No, not that way. Walk around it so you face forward. Give it a try... You got it!" One second the fire was standing upright on his weak legs and the next the sculpture moved, just a touch.

"Okay, this is weird," the demon's voice came out of the prototype altered. Howel watched the chest rise and fall with the effort of breathing. Its fabric covered frame began to look more like skin, although a faint outline of the damask stripes were there and the color was closer to white than would be healthy for a human. Howell wasn't much of a sculptor, but he'd worked hard to make the face at least attractive. With Calcifer's spirit inside it, the face edged closer to handsome. Yellow yarn hair took on texture and a pale blond color that in this twilight looked green. Howell felt an edge of envy as he saw chest hair sprout; he'd always been sensitive about his mostly smooth chest. The form shrank a few inches, but he was still tall. Howell made notes of the things to improve when Calcifer burned through this model.

"Can you move?" Michael chimed in. He was looking at Calcifer with a combination of horror and pride. Howell imagined his face must have a similar look. It was one thing to imagine such a thing, an artificial shell to house a demon, and quite another to see it work. When Calcifer picked up his right arm, the wizard expected to hear a clank from the insulating metal, but while the motion looked jerky, the creature seemed to be made of flesh and bone... or at least a facsimile thereof.

"Whoa," Calcifer called when one of his legs moved. "This takes some getting used to. How do you guys make it look so simple?"

Howell laughed. "You've never watched a baby, Cal. I'm afraid it takes practice." He looked forward to going for walks with his friend. Calcifer had never been out in the garden, for example. Not as a human, not as someone who could walk around without scorching everything. Who could smell the flowers... "Cal, you can hear through that thing, do you smell?"

The demon moved his head down toward his shoulder. "Yeah, terrible!"

Howell rolled his eyes at the old joke, but Michael didn't seem to notice it. Calcifer had years of access to Howell's mind and all the silly jokes boys laugh at were stored loosely there. "Hmm, run through the other senses, then get dressed. Michael, get Calcifer something to eat, let's see if it can handle that. Those clothes should do," he pointed to a stack of his old clothes, a few years out of date.

"I'm a 'he' not 'it.'" Calcifer said.

"Obviously," Howell smirked. "You'll thank me for that later." He pulled out his map and knife. His pinkie still bore an angry red line, but as it was the most expendable, he slashed again smearing the blood. Same result. Howell spoke around his hurting finger, "Still in Kingsbury? Do you think she'll spend the night there?"

"Oooh, yeah, that feels nice," Calcifer's words were barely audible over Michael's sudden protests of "Gross! Stop that! Not in front of me!"

Howell laughed. "So you've got all of the senses working? Good. Michael's right though, don't do that in front of others."

Calcifer blushed a light blue. It made the print a bit more visible, but was otherwise still attractive on his face. "Howl, I don't know how you ever get anything done with something like this to play with! And it's right here all the time?" He pointed at Michael, saying, "No wonder you do this so much." The fire demon smiled to embarrass the teenager. His pointed teeth gave the smile a feral cast. Howell made a mental note to fix that for the next model. Michael's blush was bright red and he stopped helping Calcifer into his clothes.

A spell guarding the house warned Howell of an approaching carriage. The ward was clear, it was Sophie. He looked back to his penknife, still quivering in the sand and the map. Kingsbury. There was no mistaking it. Howell's heart sank and he rushed into the house to see if he was right.

Howell took a deep breath before opening the front door. Horses stamped, tired from the journey. "Sophie, darling," he said as the attendant opened the carriage door. She looked breathtaking, but he couldn't let himself be distracted, he had to know. "Give me your hand. Let me help you down." He fairly pushed the footman out of the way. There was a gold band on her hand, but his heart felt like a knife had been pushed through it. She smiled at him and he set her safely on the ground and tipped the men. She carried a bag, no doubt filled with reward money. He felt no joy and wondered if he ever would again.

Her eyes were shining and she gave him a hug as soon as she was over the threshold. "Oh, Howl, it was so beautiful!" She set the bag on the table and spun around, still enjoying her new dress. "There were so many people there and Lettie and Mrs. Fairfax were invited for taking care of the dog of course and they're so in love! Lettie and Ben, of course, not Mrs. Fairfax." As she talked and moved, Sophie took down her hair. Howell couldn't help but react to her beauty and charm. His mind could worry later; his body demanded action. Howell moved to her, taking her in his arms and kissing her with a passion that surprised both of them. His hands took fistfuls of her hair, pressing her head closer to his. His lips and tongue spoke silently of desperation and he fought the need to slam her against a wall and claim her fully. She sighed when his mouth left hers. "I missed you too, Howl," she said. And yet she'd tossed away his ring?

Howell lifted her left hand, black hair covering the hurt in his green eyes. He didn't trust himself to say anything, but guilt crept up her cheeks. "Oh," she said. "Yes." Sophie looked away. "Ben suggested that as a placeholder. Just while he... I'm sorry, but he wanted to make sure... that is, we thought you might have..." Howell could imagine the whole scene. Sophie was far too nice to understand why Wizard Suliman wanted to know about the ring, how it was made and from what. She'd be proud and more than happy until perhaps Lettie worried aloud about an enchantment. Sophie would admit that there had been one and Suliman would offer to check it for her. Someone would point out that he'd notice its absence and Suliman would offer to construct a similar one. And that was the optimistic image, not counting in the chance that Sophie could've handed it over while laughing at him. Damn their meddling!

As Howell was about to let his anger speak for him, the door to the yard opened and Calcifer entered, followed quickly by Michael. He held his emotions in check, interested to see what she made of the exotic look Calcifer sported. Howell watched as they locked eyes, her gray ones examining his light brown, almost golden ones. Howell was prticularly proud of how well the eyes captured Calcifer's true nature. He looked between them both, slightly unnerved at how long they stared at one another. The demon seemed relieved once he spotted the ring on her hand.

"Oh good," he said. "So she didn't lose it. Hello Sophie." He smiled at her discomfort, sharp teeth showing.

Michael mouthed the name behind Calcifer's back and she looked to the hearth, then back to the man. "Calcifer?" She pulled her hand away from Howell, or rather, he let her pull away, a plan forming in his mind. All this emotional strain, this honesty was wearing on him. At least he'd get a chance for some good, old fashioned lying.

When he paid attention again, Sophie was hugging Calcifer and laughing at his awkward movements. He felt a touch of anger at how easily she touched the demon. "As much as I hate interrupting," Howell said. "I believe that there is business to attend to. Sophie?" At the stern tone in his voice, she turned back, still smiling. "This phony ring you're wearing, did Wizard Suliman make it for you?"

Both Calcifer and Michael frowned, turning to look at Sophie. She started to shy away, but then stood firm and tried to take the ring off, saying, "He was just trying to help, Howl." She kept trying, but Howell knew it wouldn't come off. A simple charm and he could break it, but he'd wait. It would all work into his plan.

"I'm certain of it, but the proof is in the pudding. How about I call and ask nicely for your ring back?" He moved closer and she shrank from him, toward Calcifer. The demon didn't understand the body language, however and didn't move to comfort her in any way. He watched them with interest. "Sophie," Howell said, grabbing her elbow. "I'm going to ask you to trust me and not to interrupt or argue with me while I'm talking with him. Do you understand?" He almost cringed at her muted response. She was afraid of him. Well, it would have to do for now.

"Howl," Calcifer cut in, crossing his arms. "You know, I've watched you do this to Michael for years, but Sophie?"

Howell turned on the fire demon and his eyes flashed a warning to his old friend. "Cal, this is not a good time for a heart to heart."

"Cut the crap, wizard. Just explain to her what's going on!" Calcifer walked up and looked Howell in the eye. After a moment of staring silently, Howell turned away.

"I'm looking for a mirror. Feel free to enlighten everyone." With that, Howell tried for a graceful exit up to his room. Mrs. Pentstemmon kept a mirror dedicated to scrying and used it frequently to get in touch with Wizard Suliman. Howell didn't want to use one of the mirrors he liked, because once he'd made contact, the mirrors would remain connected. The bathroom mirrors were out for that reason, as were any in his room unless they could be covered. Digging through his dresser, Howell came to the conclusion that he really ought to get rid of some stuff. While much of it could someday be useful, he'd have no space for Sophie's things with all of it hanging around. Perhaps he needed to use portals? He started to push things around in the sets of drawers along the wardrobe and thought about that until someone knocked on the door.

"Howl?" Michael's voice came through the wood. "Um, I have a mirror I don't need."

"Perfect," Howell called back. "Meet me downstairs. See if Sophie will clean it for us." His chest gave a pain at the thought that she might not. Calcifer had been out of line, he thought, but his heart was in the right place. Howell wasn't one to spell things out. She couldn't have known. He plucked up his courage. They'd faced worse.

A contrite Sophie was not what he expected to find when he stepped off the stairs, but there she was, eyes downcast. Calcifer might've laid it on a bit thick, Howell thought. Still, this could be useful. "Mrs. Troublemaker," he said, gently. "There are a few things I'll need to pull this off. Will you help me?" Lurking under that mouse was a woman with a will of steel and he wanted that woman on his side, now and forever. She nodded. At least his fear that she had crossed him was gone.

"I didn't think, Howl."

"Cariad." He bent to kiss her head. She looked up. "I do wish you'd trust me to take care of you," he said. "But you didn't know. Fi sydd ar fai, the fault was mine."

She scowled at him. "It was, you know. You shouldn't have given me something so precious without telling me how to take care of it." Howell laughed. That was the Sophie he loved.

Michael entered, setting the large, wood framed mirror on the workbench. He cleared some papers and looked at the two of them. "Anything else?"

Howell was pleased to see that Michael had offered the mirror off of his dresser. For a teenager, that was a sacrifice. "Yes, I'm going to ask you to hand me that book." Howell pointed to a large book that sat collecting dust on the top shelf. It was a nasty looking book with a cracking black leather binding and Michael reacted with some fear at the sight of it. Dutifully, the apprentice reached for it. "Not yet," Howell said quickly. "When I ask, please." He took a deep breath and picked a knife up off of the cutting board on the table. Walking toward Sophie, he said, "This would be a good time to trust me." She flinched, but didn't raise her hands to stop him as the knife neared her head. Howell cut a lock of her hair and put the knife back. "Good, that's my girl!" He gave her a smile. "Now, I want you to stand beside me, but don't argue or correct me. In fact, don't speak if you can help it, either one of you." He looked for Calcifer. He wouldn't need the warning anyway.

With the agreement of his assistants, Howell moved a chair in front of the mirror. He drew some symbols and called up his power. Keeping the wizard he wanted to speak with in mind, he pushed his will out. Scrying was not his strongest magic. Howell preferred transforming, transmuting and simple spellwork, really. The future could stay unknown as far as he was concerned. It did work well for wizard to wizard communication, but Howell had spent so long staying off the map, he'd had little use for it. He smiled, therefore, when Ben's lab quickly began to take focus. He heard a sharp intake of breath from Sophie as the whirling smoke within the mirror cleared and a craggy face took notice of them.

"I believe congratulations are in order," Howell started out, not waiting for the other wizard to say hello.

"Really?" Ben Sullivan, now Wizard Suliman, had a wary look as he answered. "I thought it was the other way around?"

"No, it seems you've become engaged to my fiancée. Isn't that why you gave her your ring? How about we get together and celebrate, you and I?" Howell reached for Sophie's hand, careful to keep her to the side of the mirror, out of the frame, as it were. Suliman was quiet, watching as Howell pretended to try and take the ring off. "Oh dear," Howell said. "Your ring seems determined to stay on. Well, no matter." He pulled her closer with one arm around her waist and kissed the back of her hand, slipping the ring off as he did so. "Quite a weak charm, perhaps your new apprentice put it on?" He continued to kiss her fingers as he let go of her hand, gently guiding her back out of the frame. "Would you be so kind as to return the one I gave her?"

Ben's face reddened, but he kept his look friendly. "I'm just looking out for her interests, you understand? Someone should. If anyone hurt her, it would upset her family greatly and what upsets them, upsets me. The ring's safe here. You can think of it as insurance."

"Indeed? You know Ben, there's a funny thing about dogs. Do you mind if I change the subject?" Howell's look turned thoughtful. "Funny thing is while you can take care of them, share your home with them, you never know when they'll turn around and bite you in the bum."

The wizard in the mirror jumped in, "You know I never would've done that to a fellow countryman if it weren't for that spell."

"Here's another funny thing," Howell couldn't make a direct threat, but he could bluff with the best of them. "You know how badly dogs shed? Their hair gets all over everything." Howell pretended to examine the lock of hair in his hand, rolling it between his fingers. "But since I have a meticulous house keeper, she swept up all the hair and when the curse was removed... well, let's just say that there was a pile of red gold hair lying about. Or would you call this ginger?" Howell looked directly at the mirror, staring hard at the Royal Wizard. "I hear you've taken on a young apprentice. One who means a lot to my fiancée. One who is what, half your age? Shall we call this insurance?" As Suliman protested, Howell signaled Michael. "Would you pass me that book, please? There may be a few curses I haven't yet memorized and I want to check the ingredients before I send you out shopping." Howell let the book land with a thud, the binding facing the mirror. He set Sophie's hair on top.

"Let's cut the crap, Howell Jenkins," Ben said. Howell wasn't sure his bluff worked, but he'd made the man uneasy. "There can't be war between us."

"Nor do I want there to be, countryman o' mine, but you have something of Sophie's. I want it back. The only enchantment on it was to lead her home safely which you could've determined with it still on her finger." Howell tossed the other ring in the air, caught it and made it disappear with sleight of hand. "Subterfuge is best left to the professionals."

Suliman's face was like a rocky ledge in the best of times, but now it hardened even further. "Is there any possibility Prince Justin's hair is mixed in?"

Howell smiled, cracking open the book. "There's only one way to find out--"

"No!" The wizard was sweating slightly as he watched Howell ease the book closed, one finger holding the page. "Fine. I'll get your ring back."

"Sophie's," Howell said.

"What?"

"Sophie's ring." Howell smiled, trying not to show the relief he felt. "Fair trade, I burn the hair as soon as she has her ring. The sooner the better, for all concerned." By mutual will, the mirror clouded over. Michael and Sophie came closer as Howell let out a long sigh. He took one look at her angry face. "Calcifer?" he yelled. The fire demon appeared in the doorway with a smudge of chocolate cake on his lips. "Let's take a walk," Howell said. "I really need a drink."

Many hours later, a door opened on the castle, stationary without its resident fire demon, and said demon entered with a black bundle of rags across its shoulders. He carefully pushed his burden off onto the floor and sat next to it, grabbing the rags and shaking them. "Hell's teeth, Howl! Walking in those damned boots is hard!" A grunt was his only answer as the rags wobbled back and forth. "Well if you'd stayed sober enough it wouldn't have been so bad!" Another grunt answered the first.

As Howell came to, he took a bleary look around the house. Sophie's bed seemed to be occupied and snores were coming from the pile of blankets. Howell nodded his head as he realized he'd sleep alone. No big deal, he told himself. He'd survive one night without her. Even when he "slept" with someone, he never actually slept with them, never stayed the whole night. Who wanted to see the person the next morning? This morning had been... very nice. He found he liked sleeping with Sophie, holding her through the night. Howell leaned his head against Calcifer's human costume. It would probably burn through in a few days. Howell didn't intend it to stand up to long term use. Next model, he thought.

"Howl?" Calcifer asked, turning to face him. "Howl, are you gonna throw up again?" When Howell shook his head, Calcifer put his arm around the wizard, hugging him tightly. Howell relaxed his head, resting it on Calcifer's chest and breathing in the smoky aroma. They sat in silence for a few minutes, Sophie's snores providing the only sound. There was no fire in the grate and it took Howell a moment to miss it. "Thank you for tonight," the demon said, softly.

"What're frinz for?" Howell had always intended to take Michael out whoring when he was old enough, but that was before Sophie and now the boy seemed to be all hung up on little Martha. He'd probably get weird about it anyway.

"Howl? Is that what we are? Friends? Without the contract, I feel lost," Calcifer sniffled, then nearly screamed. "Ah! I'm dripping! My nose! Ew, my eyes!"

Howell would've laughed, but he didn't want to hurt his feelings. "'S okay, Cal. Just crying. You're hookay." He would've explained how hard it was to coordinate all of the bodily functions with the demon's thoughts, but his tongue felt thick, normal speech impossible. He held the shell's arm instead. "Yer not lost. This is your home. You're... my friend. Rwy'n dy garu di." Howell's shoulders sank. This honesty thing isn't so tough, he thought. His mind was still moving sluggishly, at least he figured that must've been why he didn't feel the kiss coming until Calcifer's lips were on his. Fear hit him like a fist. "Na! Cal, no!" He jerked away, pushing his whole body to the side. His legs failed to help him stand, so he fell back, making space between himself and Calcifer. "Be' digwyddodd?" He held his chest, his breath racing.

Calcifer stood gracefully and backed up to the hearth. His eyes glowed faintly. "I thought... I thought... you said..."

Howell put it together first, quite a feat in this state, he thought, although he felt closer to sober now than he had a moment ago. "I do love you Calcifer," he said. "But that's... different."

"Why? You kiss Sophie. You love her, and I did more than just kiss that girl tonight but I didn't love her. Do men--"

Howell cut him off, "No! Don't... Look Cal, we've been together for a long time, and there's been a bond... You're a friend, more like a brother and I can't..." An uncomfortable silence fell. Even the snoring stopped.

"Can you make it up to bed on your own?" Calcifer's tone was back to normal and Howell nodded with relief. One second the man stood in front of Howell and the next he fell to the side with a clanking sound. The fire was back in the hearth where he belonged. Two sighs echoed in the quiet room. Sophie had cleaned the grate while they were gone and new wood was stacked up alongside. Calcifer watched Howell struggle to rise, but said nothing.

"Oh God, I hope we didn't wake Sophie," Howell mumbled as he stood shakily.

"She wasn't asleep," the fire demon said. His voice was soft, but it was back to its caustic self and Howell welcomed it even as the meaning of the words sank in.

"Snoring?" he whispered.

"Haven't you noticed? Only old Sophie snored like that." He sounded pleased with himself for knowing something about her that Howell didn't, despite his having spent the past two nights with her.

"Oh." Howell's body didn't want to cooperate, but he walked to the stairs, looking in at his love. Her blankets were pulled up over her head and he considered carrying her upstairs, but in his state? He curled up on the stone floor next to her, but alone.

A/N:Language disclaimer: Welsh is the oldest of the Celtic languages in use today. It is a beautiful and difficult language and I've done the best I can, but as a non-native speaker, errors will occur. Feel free to alert me to any that you find. Pronunciation isn't always what you'd expect and there are letters that don't have an equal in English. You can find many good resources on the web. I particularly like the BBC's for information on learning the language. If I've missed any translations, let me know.

Fi sydd ar fai: It's my fault

Rwy'n dy garu di: I love you

Be' digwyddodd?: What happened? (correction via cymraes)


	5. Chapter 5

Author's note and disclaimer:

This is based on the book, but with a more mature concept of Howl's courting of young ladies and his moral code.

One major mistake (of mine) I've noted is that in the book, Howell goes back to blond after the funeral and makes a Hamlet joke to boot so my story starting out with him still black haired is incorrect. Anything else you note, feel free to comment on. Reviews are most welcome and I'm pleased that you're enjoying this story.

I do not own anything and write out of love of the story, not to benefit from Diana Wynne Jones' work.

000**O**000

**Chapter 5**

_In which Sophie plays with fire_

The day exploded in a brilliance of white pain for Howell Jenkins. For reasons he couldn't remember, he was on a small cot looking up at the underside of a set of stairs. He cradled his head and and would've cried from the sheer discomfort he was in, if it hadn't meant making noise. Even the logs spitting in the fireplace next to him were too loud. His muscles screamed out instead. Certainly there would be a logical reason why he was on this horrible, lumpy mattress? If so he would have to think of it once he'd dealt with his body, which was threatening to empty its contents through any possible exit. Experience had taught him that standing up in such a situation was a foolhardy endeavor, so he rolled to the floor, leading with his face. The fire flared briefly and then went out with a loud hissing noise. Howell didn't care. He focused on getting his tired self to the bathroom as carefully as he could. Medicine, he thought. If he could keep it down, it would make the bad pain go away. His vanity fled at the extent of his pain and he could've been in a house full of people without caring as he crawled slowly across the floor. As it was, there were no witnesses to the result of distilled spirits on his system. It was only once he had made his destination and dealt with the deluge of bodily functions that he realized fully what no fire meant. Freezing cold water streamed down on his face, bringing with it the sharp tang of reality. Howell gasped and struggled for breath from the shock.

He stepped out of the path of the shower head, cold water still spraying on his thigh. "V-v-very fun-n-ny, C-calcifer," he said, shivering. "C-can I get some hot water n-now?" He hugged himself and considered giving up. Howell hadn't had a bath last night nor could he remember a shower the previous morning. He ran a hand along the stubble on his chin. Nah, he answered himself. "Calcifer?" There was no fire demon and no hot shower. His mind jump started and he set some portion of it to figure out how to get hot water on demand whenever Calcifer was gallivanting about. Technology tended to fail in the presence of magic and his home would kill any of the heaters from Wales, so the solution needed to be found using evocation spells like Calcifer did. Still, he needed to get clean right now and the painkillers were kicking in, so Howell forced himself to imagine mountain waterfalls as he scrubbed off the dirt and scum of the day before. He looked over the ruined beauty spells on the shelf. That woman didn't know her own power, he thought. Aren't you supposed to teach her? He asked himself. Hm. Howell looked at his reflection in the large mirror. A test of the taps gave hot water again. Those roots were definitely showing, he mused. The pain and guilt over Mrs. Pentstemmon was no less, but Howell was done with black. Bravely, he reached for the packet labeled 'Hair.'

Emerging blond and mostly human after a full two hours, Howell caught just a few words of the conversation Sophie and Calcifer were having at the hearth. A frown crossed his brow, 'jealousy?' Were they speaking of him? What happened last night? His last memory was of Calcifer and the prostitute. Dear God, Howell thought, don't let him have told her about that! He'd made Calcifer promise before they even got to the inn that he wouldn't ever speak of brothels, not with her. Howell was in enough trouble for threatening the Prince.

Well, he thought with a bit of a laugh, a new day, a new set of mistakes to make. "Good morning Sophie, Cal." They nodded to him. Sophie picked up some sewing and Calcifer reached for another log. Howell walked over to the workbench, pleased to see a cloth draped over Michael's mirror. Someone was thinking. "I'd like to start with your training, Sophie." He looked to see her reaction. It was muted, to say the least. Her beautiful gray eyes looked between him and the fire.

Calcifer cleared his throat. "Well, we were trying to plan a little outing ourselves."

Howell kept his face deliberately blank, but felt his gut twist. Maybe he was just a tad jealous. Would it be the two of them? "Where's Michael?"

Sophie was the first to talk, but she and Calcifer both replied that he had run to Cesari's to get supplies for a picnic lunch. Sophie added that they had opened the flower shop early and had good trade, but she closed it for the rest of the day. The look in her eye made him feel quite small, as if he was a shop manager checking up on his lazy employees. Unfair! He hadn't even asked about that. He waved a hand, dismissing it. Howell moved some papers around on the workbench and opened a few drawers to check for supplies. He'd start her off simple and try to explain things better than he did for Michael. Howell didn't consider himself a great teacher, like Mrs. Pentstemmon, but he could size up another person's talents pretty well enough. Michael had talent and perseverance; he would grow up to be a serviceable wizard. Sophie, if he pushed his emotional feelings out of the way, had great potential. He probably wasn't the right teacher for her, but there wasn't anyone else he knew or trusted that was. Howell felt a familiar guilt for not living up to his own potential, for using his magic for pleasure rather than putting it into service, like Ben had. That would change, had changed, but the guilt remained. Maybe because Mrs. Pentstemmon hadn't lived to see it and that too was his fault? Howell felt a swell of grief and turned so that Calcifer and Sophie couldn't see, if they had been looking his way, which, he noticed, they weren't. Perhaps he'd gone back to blond too soon? His sister once told him that grief was like an ocean, vast and placid much of the time, but likely to blindside you in waves. In the past few days, he'd felt extremes of emotion. Briefly, he longed for the contract again. No, he told himself, you just have to deal with it, grow up. Surreptitiously, he wiped his eyes.

"Well," Howell said, drawing attention back to himself. "I think we can get in a first lesson before you all go out."

Sophie looked confused for a moment before putting away her project and walking toward the bench. "I'm not sure--"

"This is no time for doubts. First thing is to clear your mind of negativity as best you can. You may want to take notes. This is a very simple lesson, but it's basic to the magic I can teach you." Howell sorted out several small piles of herbs and pulled a small brazier from under some papers.

Sophie looked like she was trying not to interrupt, but as soon as he stopped talking she began with her questions, "Isn't this a spell like Michael's? Shouldn't I look at it first?"

"No, this is one I teach you," Howell said. "If I may?" He looked at her, amused by her begrudging nod. "Fine. Here is a pinch of pennyroyal; be careful of this if the spell to follow is related to fertility, but it's fine as a base for most other spells. You can build the herbs up in the pan if the metal's cool or pile them together on a paper to add all together. It's not as important to this spell, the way it is to other ones."

She was getting an annoyed look on her face. "Why are you making this so difficult? Can't you speak plainly?"

Howell took this affront with patience. In the practice of magic, not much could disrupt him. "Then a pinch each from these others: pine, violet, coltsfoot and mountain columbine, respectively." He took a pinch from each and tossed them into the brazier. Just to be showy, he lit the coals by calling a flame to his index finger. He blew softly into the firebox and watched as the herbs blackened. "Now add a touch of your will to it," as he spoke, the herbs went from charring into a burst of fragrant fire, disappearing into smoke.

Sophie snorted. "And other than stinking, what purpose does it serve?"

"Other than being your first lesson, you mean?" He looked at her arched brow and sighed. He'd promised himself he'd explain everything. "This is a preliminary spell. It serves no functions other than to purify the area the next spell will be performed in and to focus your will to the task at hand." The wisps of smoke dissolved in a purple cloud and he waved that away. "Would you like to try your hand?" He hadn't meant for it to sound like a challenge, but she clearly took it that way. He sighed and backed away. When he looked to the fireplace, Calcifer was gone, but the door to the yard opened and as she was pondering the ingredients, the fire demon entered in his human guise. He and Howell nodded, neither one wanting to disturb Sophie as she looked over the arrangement of herbs. The wizard's quick eye caught her reaching for the first ingredient and he cautioned her, "Just a pinch, Sophie."

"I know how to cook, Howl."

"Of course, darling, and I'm delighted you do." He briefly patted his stomach, which had gained almost a full eight of an inch since she moved in. "But you need to be careful, even with a simple spell." His words seemed to have the opposite of the intended effect for she tossed the next few herbs directly into the hot brazier. "No!" He reached for her hand, but was too late.

"Now burn, darn you," she said to the pan. It responded with enthusiasm, emitting large quantities of flame and a thick choking smoke. The door opened, sending whirls of air moving the smoke all about, effectively blinding everyone in the room, everyone except Howell. He had prepared for any calamity, this being her first lesson. Howell took hold of her hand as she coughed. "Stop," she hacked the words out, "laughing," -cough-"at me."

Howell tried, but she looked like a raccoon, with smudges all around her eyes and seeing Michael and Calcifer blundering about in the mess made him laugh even harder. He pulled her close, rationalizing that it was to give her the clean air inside his protection spell, but knowing it was just to hold her tight. She breathed in gasping lung fulls before looking up at him. He wiped a mirth induced tear from his eyes and kissed her sooty nose. Without thinking, she giggled and reached up to rub the black from his lips. They locked eyes and his heart gave a thump of happiness. "You can clean this up, can't you?" she asked, though it was almost a statement rather than question. There was a note of awe in her voice that Howell approved of. Without answering, he directed the smoke up through the chimneys and out the still open door. She pushed away from him grumbling, "Show off."

Howell let her go and brushed the dark smears off of his suit as best he could. Though it felt like an eternity ago, Michael had mentioned only last week that Howell needed new clothes and, looking down, he was inclined to agree. He'd have to beg for his own money, of course. Michael was becoming too cunning at managing their finances and he doubted Sophie would be any freer. He'd not seen the bag of money from the King since he snuck a few coins out for last night. Howell could tear the place apart to find their hiding places, but he suspected they were doing the right thing.

Sophie stood glaring at the brazier and Calcifer came up to Howell. "Nothing by halves?"

Howell nodded. He looked at the streaks on Calcifer's face and clothes. "Are you going to wash up?"

Calcifer shuddered. The thought of water all over him seemed to be a bit much. Howell laughed and tried to brush the clothes, but Calcifer stepped away. He held up a hand and smiled. "Watch this," he said. He closed his eyes and moved his right hand along his face, from his green curls to his chin, and the dirt disappeared. He looked for Howell's reaction, like a child who'd ridden a bicycle without training wheels. Howell was speechless. If the Witch's fire demon could've wielded her magic that effortlessly, they'd all be dead. As it was, she'd managed some pretty impressive stuff, like hiding her core in the wooden guitar without burning the thing, but it took so much out of her that she was unable to mount a real challenge to Howell at the end.

"Cal, that's great!" As Calcifer cleaned himself, the wizard turned to see Sophie, still sooty and annoyed, trying to do the spell again. "No," Howell said, hastily. "Please, I'll need to clean that. You've done enough damage for one go."

Sophie seemed to be trying on emotions for a few seconds, by turns chagrined and then angry. Howell raised an eyebrow in silent challenge for her to turn this into his fault. When she couldn't she deflated somewhat and decided to retire to the bathroom, muttering that Calcifer could wait on his picnic. Michael managed to clean off the packages he was carrying and ask Howell what had happened.

"The usual. Our Sophie attempted to burn down my home," he answered.

Calcifer added his own spin, "The great Teacher is one to talk."

Howell looked hurt. "Well I did try!"

Michael moved his boxes to the table. "Oh, before I forget, Martha said to let Sophie know her mum's coming round here later to deliver her ring back. Suliman's seeing to it."

Howell looked between the mirror and the boy. "Really? Well that's one less thing to worry about." He ran his hand through his hair. How long to wait, he wondered, before the wedding? It was clear from this incident that her family didn't approve of him, but surely they'd want him to make an honest woman of her at some point? Maybe not. You never could tell with those Hatters.

The object of his thoughts emerged from the bathroom mostly clean. There were some streaks of red along her dress, but she'd scrubbed the rest away. She held the fabric away from herself. Howell walked toward her, hoping to convince her to remove the dress, but Calcifer reached her quicker.

"Allow me," he offered and must've made some sort of face, because Sophie laughed and pushed at him slightly, but allowed him to work his cleaning trick on the stains.

"Are we going?" Michael called to the room in general.

"Of course," Sophie said, almost jumping away from Calcifer. "Let me get a blanket." She smiled and hummed as she gathered a bundle of things.

Howell suddenly felt quite left out of their circle. He sat at the table and sighed dramatically, but they didn't notice as they gathered a hamper with the packages and Sophie's things. Calcifer and Michael lifted everything and Sophie turned to Howell before they left. "You can come with us, you know."

"That's hardly an invitation," he complained.

"Well it's the only one you get." Sophie put her hands on her hips. "And it's better than you deserve."

Michael stopped in the doorway, causing the basket to fall as Calcifer was jerked backwards. Sophie hurried them both along with her hands as Howell sat there wondering what he'd done to get her riled up. Well, aside from the spell, which he was not taking the blame for, what had he done? That she knew about? His small conscience, which had been getting quite a workout since her arrival, reminded him of all the things he'd done that she didn't yet know about. He wanted to follow but, still smarting from her attitude, he shouted, "Someone has to stay here and clean up now that I don't have a cleaning woman anymore!"

"Suit yourself," she sniffed and was gone.


	6. Chapter 6

Author's note and disclaimer:

This is based on the book, but with a more mature concept of Howl's courting of young ladies and his moral code.

One major mistake (of mine) I've noted is that in the book, Howell goes back to blond after the funeral and makes a Hamlet joke to boot so my story starting out with him still black haired is incorrect. Anything else you note, feel free to comment on. Reviews are most welcome and I'm pleased that you're enjoying this story.

I do not own anything and write out of love of the story, not to benefit from Diana Wynne Jones' work.

000**O**000

**Chapter 6**

_In which Howell is rejected _

Summer in Ingary was much like summer in Wales, one reason Howell had settled here instead of in any of the other nations in this world. Still, even Wales had nasty hot days. Today it was Ingary's turn to melt. Being close to the Wastes probably didn't help. A thought had been percolating in Howell's brain for days now. It sat politely on the edge of his awareness, but as he'd stripped off his jacket and even his shirt in the yard, the idea hit him full force. The castle needed more mobility. It all hinged on Calcifer, of course, but the idea of moving quickly to a cooler clime was tantalizing Howell. He kicked a scrap of alloyed metal. It was about as large as a car bonnet, so he ought not to have kicked it, but the materials he'd been working together made it surprisingly light and he suffered only a stubbed toe rather than a broken foot. "Good," he murmured to himself as he felt the return of his family. They'd been gone for nearly two and a half hours, not that he'd been counting the minutes or anything. The mindless work he'd been engaged in was soothing to his nerves and he'd quite forgotten how left out he felt. "Quite," he said to himself and reached for his shirt.

"You really missed a nice afternoon. We saved you some food, though," Sophie called as she crossed the yard. She stopped and stared as Howell finished slipping his shirt on. He hoped she might come close enough for a kiss, but she looked suddenly like a deer in headlights. Well, he thought, he was pretty sweaty; a bath was in order and with Calcifer finally back...

"I'll just get cleaned up, then," he said and called for Calcifer to heat up water. "You'd better get inside, Sophie, out of this sun," he said to her flushed face as she stood in the yard. He took her hand and she didn't resist as he brought her inside and sat her down. Calcifer danced in the fireplace, his flame bouncing between green and blue.

"That was great!" he told Howell and Michael chimed in, "He was too scared to take a swim."

"Just as well," Howell said as he walked on to the bathroom. "This model might sink. I've got some ideas, though. We'll all have a nice chat once I'm clean."

"Mansion door," Calcifer announced as knocking began. Howell sighed and stood back from the doorway in case he could still make a graceful exit into the bathroom. Michael ran to the door and opened it to the Smith's footman announcing Sophie's stepmother.

"Why the formality, Fanny?" Michael asked once she'd come to the door. She seemed to be squinting into the room, trying to find someone. "Oh, Sophie." Michael said as he backed out of the way, inviting Fanny inside, but the woman kept looking.

"Is he here?" she hissed in a stage whisper.

"Of course," Sophie replied as she approached the doorway, somewhat aghast and glancing back to Howell. He looked on impassively, wishing he'd been just a bit quicker about getting away. Still, she'd come to return the ring hadn't she?

"Good afternoon, Mrs. Smith," he greeted her, walking toward the fire. "Won't you come in?"

"As the spider said to the fly," she retorted, but did walk up the stairs. The room was cooler than the outside at least, even with Calcifer in the hearth. Sophie pulled out a chair but her stepmother waved a hand as if she wouldn't need it.

Howell bristled. He'd be a good host if it killed him. "You're looking well today. Won't you have a seat?"

"I'm here to give you this, from the Royal Wizard Ben Suliman." She fished out a suede leather bag and tossed it to him, despite the close distance. He snatched it from the air and pretended to weigh it in his hand. "Oh, it's in there, believe me. He was so concerned for the Prince he could hardly sleep! Who do you think you are, Mr. Howl?"

Anger was rising within him again, but he kept control. Ben was worried, afraid even, that was something! "I'm the Wizard Howl, mentor and current guardian to your daughter," he said confidently. This caused Sophie to snort, which irritated him. Why was she getting her dander up now? She'd agreed to marry him the day before! Michael brought Fanny a drink as she stood.

"I'm not staying long, only enough to see Ben's directions carried out," Fanny sniffed, taking a grateful sip of the cool water. "Thank you, Michael, dear."

"Then please have a seat," Howell directed. He suddenly wanted a chance to change her mind about him or at the very least get her off his back! "Sophie dear, a shipment of vases arrived this afternoon, but I'm afraid some of them arrived broken. Could you and Michael check how many we've really received?" He waggled a finger behind his back, assuring that the box in the shop would contain several broken vessels before they got there. He needed Fanny alone, or as close to it as possible. Calcifer was a given and he'd never miss this. The fire had the decency and the sense to hide in the logs, however.

Fanny sat reluctantly across from the hearth where Howell leaned one hand on stacked up logs. Sophie and Michael went even more reluctantly into the broom closet that led to the Market Chipping flower shop. Sophie turned around, looking at both of them and admonishing them to behave until she returned. Fanny made a familiar sort of soft snorting noise and Howell nodded. The mood darkened once the peacemakers were gone.

"Well," Fanny cleared her throat. "What are your intentions regarding my daughter?"

Howell considered telling her the many, many things he intended to do with Sophie once she let him and in fact smiled at the mental images that pressed into his mind, before gathering his wits about him and slithering out of question. "My intentions are all here in the bag."

She turned her nose up at his answer. "Ben said you were to burn the hair in my presence, just to be sure."

Howell opened the bag, turning out his ring and looking it over. It was the right ring, he knew that as she entered, but he wanted to keep the moment going. "Have you had a chance to look at this?"

Fanny nodded slowly, as if he was a fool. Of course the way he was feeling she wasn't far from the mark. He continued, "Did you perchance look at the inscription?"

"Yes, it looks like the words of a spell," she retorted. "You are a wizard, after all."

"I'm glad someone here remembers." Howell directed his comment at the fire, which was keeping pretty close to mum. "No, Madam, this isn't a spell, it's Cymraeg or Welsh. That's a language where Wizard Suliman and I are from. He didn't translate it for you?" She stared at him and he couldn't be sure if he was reaching her or not. "It says 'I love you.' There's no evil intent there and there's none in my heart. If anything, the spell she cast on me is stronger than anything I could do to her." He had to look away from the woman as he remembered being so close to death when Sophie spoke life back into his heart. He hadn't understood it at the time, but that was when he learned to love again.

"I'm not here to be swayed by your words, Wizard. I'm here to watch you burn the hair. Those are his instructions. Will you get on with it?" She sat ramrod straight in her chair, a faint line of sweat along her brow.

Howell would rather have been bathed and fresh for this discussion himself, but there you go. With the Hatter's involved, he lost all control of the situation. "Why do you trust him?" The unspoken addition to that was why she didn't trust Howell? It was the question he'd been working on the most. How had Ben managed to gain their undying admiration? He wasn't Horrible Howl anymore, not really. He'd apologized to several women and he wanted to marry her step daughter. How bad could she think he was?

"Well, Ben didn't court both of my daughters!" She looked fit to be tied and all Howell could think was that Lettie fell for the man who followed at her heels and sniffed her crotch. Would she have felt the same if she'd been cursed due to 'Percival' instead of Sophie? It made him feel just a hair better. Fanny didn't stop there, saying "Two of them at once! Let's go on with you keeping Sophie an old woman, working her fingers to the bones when you should've removed her curse and sent her home! Put her in danger to save you and that demon of yours? I don't call that the behavior of a gentleman! She's a young woman and she deserves better than the likes of you! Then we can move on to the threats you piled up on Ben when he was just trying to help. Plus, she told us you didn't ask her to marry you so much as tell her she was engaged to you."

That hit hard and Howell recoiled from the sting of the words as Sophie and Michael came back in the room, almost tentatively. Neither one spoke as Howell and Fanny stared each other down. Despite being seated, Fanny seemed to have the upper hand; she had raised all three of the stubborn girls, after all. Howell turned to Sophie, her eyes wide. Apparently she hadn't meant for that to get back to him. "Well?" he asked, his voice controlling the anger he felt at having his feelings exposed. He strode toward her. "Well?"

She looked away. Michael behind her seemed to want to disappear back up to the shop, but wasn't able to take his eyes away from the emotional train wreck that Howell felt like he was becoming. Sophie's face showed the stress, but she reverted back to the feisty girl he loved. "Well, what! You haven't asked me anything, so I can't say one way or the other."

He cracked a smile. As much as he hated being pinned down, she loved to force him out in the open. Howell went down onto one knee in front of her. "Sophie Hatter, will you marry me?" He gazed up at her and began to sweat as she looked from face to face, or fire in Calcifer's case, and didn't answer. From the corner of his eye, Howell saw the fire demon flicker. Was that a shake of his blue head? It was distinct as the demon repeated the gesture a second time.

"You know how I feel about you," she said to him, taking her time as if the whole room didn't hang on her every word. "But I can't say yes." She took a deep breath. "Not yet."

Howell stood and began a slow count down from one hundred as he controlled his breathing and tried to push back the buzzing sound in his mind. Why give him back his heart at all? It was nothing but pain. One hundred, ninety nine... She loved him. He knew that, had known that for some time. Ninety five, ninety four... He'd counted on her love to save him and it had. It saved them all. Ninety, eighty nine... Rejected? Totally and utterly rejected? Seventy nine, seventy eight, seventy seven... Calcifer? He... he shook his head? Was Howell jealous? Yes, now he was. They were worried and they were right to be worried. Seventy one, seventy... Michael patted his shoulder as he walked by, but a numbness had reached Howell's mind and he didn't feel it, merely knew what it would've felt like. Sixty three, sixty two, sixty one... He could smash their brains, leaving the skulls intact. He could curse them all six ways to Sunday. Spells came unbidden to his mind. Fifty five, fifty four, fifty three... For this he was trying to be a good man? He could murder them all! Forty eight, forty seven... A nice purifying fire would bring this whole castle down, but then Calcifer would still live. Doesn't he have a long life ahead of him anyway? Thirty... Her mother was hugging Sophie and talking about moving her back home again. One hundred, ninety nine, ninety eight... There are ways to keep them alive, but wishing they were dead. Water for Calcifer... a river, perhaps? The ocean? Eighty three, eighty two... Would one thousand years be a tad excessive for torture? Trapped underwater? Nine hundred ninety nine, nine hundred ninety eight... A tantrum might feel nice right about now. Nine hundred ninety, nine hundred eighty nine, nine hundred eighty eight... No. He was beyond tantrums. It was time to grow up. "Calcifer? Here, eat this." Howell tossed his ring to the demon who caught it and swallowed. The smoke ring from his belch was vaguely heart shaped and Sophie seemed to catch on to what had happened a moment too late.

"Howl!" Her face fell and she turned away from her stepmother. "I'm not ready right now, Fanny."

"I don't see why you'd want to stay here." Her stepmother walked over toward Howell, "Well I'd like to go home 'sir,' but there's one more piece of business? He was quite specific about the hair."

"Stop!" Sophie ran to intercept Fanny, keep her from Howell. "It wasn't Ben's. That is, we used my hair. There was no threat to the Prince at all. He lied." She kept her eyes on Howell as he moved around the fireplace. "But he's not a bad man." He felt the weight of her gaze, but kept his own eyes fixed on Calcifer.

Seven hundred fifty six, seven hundred fifty five... Calcifer. Under his own roof? Behind his back? 'A woman true and fair,' indeed! Seven hundred forty nine, seven hundred forty eight... My best friend? How classic! Seven hundred forty, seven hundred thirty nine... He can't love, not truly. He'd learn that, just as Howell had done nearly a decade before. Would it drive him mad? To want and not have? To see, but not experience? Seven hundred twenty eight, seven hundred twenty seven... Love. Rwy'n dy garu di.

"Um, Fanny?" Sophie said. "Don't mean to rush you, but this would be a very good time to leave." Sophie's voice remained calm, but Howell heard the note of rising concern. He wished he could assure her that everything was fine, that he'd shake off her rejection in no time. Howell waited until Calcifer was focused on watching Sophie.

"Are you sure you'll be fine, darling?" Fanny asked. It was clear she was more than ready to leave but she didn't want to go without Sophie. She managed to get her stepmother to the doorway and fairly pushed her out before turning back to see Howell's arms raise, his lips moving. "Michael, stop him!"

Howell felt movement behind him and remembered that Michael was no longer the tiny boy he'd found on his doorstep. That youth couldn't have tackled a dog, much less a man. This one could. Howell did what he'd never expected he'd have to- he raised one hand and Michael slid backwards across the floor, the workbench cushioning his landing as only a large piece of rock hard, oak furniture can do. The sound was satisfying to some dark part of his soul. That distraction wouldn't have stopped Howell's casting if it hadn't given Calcifer warning. The demon turned just in time. "Howell," he said, his wispy hands raised in a plea. His reservoir of magic was far greater than the wizard's, just by virtue of what he was, but he didn't attempt to defend himself. Calcifer's orange eyes pleaded for faith and Howell lowered his arms, the power word bitten back, swallowed like bile.

"Go." Howell's voice was a raspy whisper. "Just... go." He choked back the anger along with the magic, but it festered there and both could come roaring back. He turned only enough to see Sophie crouched down beside Michael who rubbed his shoulder. It could've been worse. Much worse. "Go." He walked to the stairs. Calcifer was gone from the hearth when he looked back, but he felt the magic lingering. He needed to wash his face at least. When he came out, Michael was gone and Sophie stood next to the stairs.

"It's not his fault, Howl," Sophie said, her head lowering. "It's mine."

"It usually is, woman," Howell bit off the rest of his answer as he trooped upstairs. Once in his room, he charmed the door to remain closed. The buzzing in his mind provided a needed distraction and he pulled each strand of thought apart, writing until his hands cramped and his ink pot was nearly empty. The bad thoughts of the day were there, no better for having to wait, but no worse either.

Calcifer was gone. Sophie and Michael had both gone out but each had also returned. That was something, wasn't it? Howell didn't really want to know how it would be to live alone. He looked at one of his drawings. He couldn't do this without them. Well, he could, of course, but what would the point be? Howell stood and stretched. It was getting dark in Wales, so hours must've passed. He wandered to the window in time to see his niece Mari running inside as Megan's figure in the doorway reminded him of their own mother in summers long ago. He felt a pang of guilt at not checking with them after Midsummer's Day. What did they think about the Witch's visit? He couldn't stay to find out, not with Sophie rushing about to "save" his supposed girlfriend. No doubt Megan had explained away the Witch's power. It would be nice to spend some time with his family, though. Howell laughed as he undressed for bed, tossing scrolls and texts off the bed. Aside from spoiling his niece and nephew, it said a lot about the situation here if Wales looked like a nice time!

000O000

A/N:Language disclaimer: Welsh is the oldest of the Celtic languages in use today. It is a beautiful and difficult language and I've done the best I can, but as a non-native speaker, errors will occur. Feel free to alert me to any that you find. Pronunciation isn't always what you'd expect and there are letters that don't have an equal in English. You can find many good resources on the web. I particularly like the BBC's for information on learning the language. If I've missed any translations, let me know.

Cymraeg: Welsh (language)

Rwy'n dy garu di: I love you


	7. Chapter 7

Author's note and disclaimer:

This is based on the book, but with a more mature concept of Howl's courting of young ladies and his moral code.

One major mistake (of mine) I've noted is that in the book, Howell goes back to blond after the funeral and makes a Hamlet joke to boot so my story starting out with him still black haired is incorrect. Anything else you note, feel free to comment on. Reviews are most welcome and I'm pleased that you're enjoying this story.

I do not own anything and write out of love of the story, not to benefit from Diana Wynne Jones' work.

000**O**000

**Chapter 7**

_In which Howell learns there is no place like home_

Sleep is great medicine and Howell felt better as the misty morning began in Wales. The weak light streamed in his window exposing the mess he'd left his room in, with papers, blankets, books and clothing strewn about. A small cobweb had appeared on the ceiling near his window. He smiled at the sight. This was still his space. Maybe living alone wouldn't prove that difficult? His smile disappeared soon after he started to sort through it all. What was he thinking? Alone? Never. He'd never survive. That time in his life when he felt most alone was when the police showed up at their home in Wales.

"I'm sorry to bother you this early, are you Mr. Howell Jenkins?" The two men stood in the doorway and he couldn't remember which one of them told him, all he could remember was the shock, the numbness as it spread through his mind. He was sure there was more that followed, police reports, mortuary visits, funerals and the like, but he went through them all in the same daze. His sister, Megan, finally came home, just after the funerals. He'd called her right away, but the Jenkins could be every bit as stubborn as the Hatters and she didn't forgive quickly. She did come, though. She and Gareth moved in just before Neil was born. That week was the only and last time he'd been on his own. Between Mrs. Pentstemmon's place in Ingary and his family's home in Wales, he was never alone. Once he set up shop in Porthaven, he saved Calcifer. Then he wasn't even alone inside his own head. Michael moved in soon after. Guilt passed over him in waves. Calcifer and Michael. The two who were closest to him and he hurt them. Worse was what he could've done, would've done. They didn't know, (he thanked his stars for that) but it didn't ease his poor, overworked conscience. Calcifer and Sophie... that was a different feeling.

Howell sat down, careful not to crush any of the papers. Most of them related to the new castle he had in mind, some were spells and some notes were his new theory about how to handle Sophie's power. He organized them mindlessly. Luckily, one of the papers had an answer to the hot water problem, short and long term. He could have a hot shower this morning and get out to Wales before anyone else woke up.

His hopes were dashed as soon as he hit the stairs. The smell of bacon frying at first made him smile, thinking that Calcifer had returned, but a stretch of his power revealed that the demon was still away. He didn't know if that was a good thing or not; jealousy being what it was.

"Good morning, Howl," Sophie said from over the log fire as he hit the bottom step. Howell stopped, scowling and unsure. She smiled sweetly and went back to cooking. He hadn't wanted to talk to her, but here she was. The pretty dress she'd been wearing was replaced with one of her old granny dresses and she had an apron on, but the view she gave him as she leaned over the fire reminded him how badly he wanted her. And she had stayed... she didn't have to do that. Dammit, he thought. It wouldn't kill him to say something.

"What are you doing?" With the amount of food she was cooking, it looked like she was planning to feed an army.

Without turning around to look at him, she answered lightly, "A complicated love spell. What does it look like?"

He made a low noise and turned to go clean up. She called to him, "Howl? I'm..." She trailed off her words and took a breath. Howell waited, trying to look anywhere but at her beautiful face. "I'd hoped you'd be a little less upset. At least don't be angry with Michael." She sat, almost crumpled, on the stool next to the hearth.

Howell thought for a few seconds, trying and discarding cruel things to say. Finally he settled on, "Why would I be mad at Michael? He was only following your orders." He felt his anger returning and his voice took on a dangerous edge. "Don't EVER command him against me again! He's just a boy."

Sophie shot up to standing, her eyes alight with the challenge of a shouting match. "So I should let you attack Calcifer? And I wasn't the one who threw him! You weren't yourself!"

"Myself? No, but I thought you liked monsters. Or is that only demons? He can't love you. Not really. Ironic isn't it? You fell for me when I was heartless and now you kick me away... Oh, Hell's teeth, woman!" He stormed into the bathroom, slamming and locking the door, missing the look of shock on her face.

One hundred, ninety nine, ninety eight... Howell took deep breaths as he counted and felt a type of calm descending. He looked at the papers in his hand, his focus improving as the numbers in his mind reduced. The spell he'd planned was limited by the reservoir they had in the castle to store water, but it would have to do. A short shower then, he thought.

Once clean, dry and dressed, Howell stared at his reflection. It was time for new clothes. Anything, really to get his mind off of Sophie. Sophie and Calcifer? If so, he was at fault for building the damned shell in the first place. Why couldn't he do anything right? Howell sighed and prepared himself for another confrontation with Sophie.

Which explained why he was so surprised when he bumped into Michael as he exited the bathroom. "Sorry, Howl," the youth mumbled in a sleepy voice. It still amazed the wizard how tall the boy had gotten. It certainly wasn't due to the good food he ate. Howell stepped away from the entrance to the bathroom, the apparent destination Michael was heading for.

"No, I owe you an apology," Howell said gently. The youth looked at his face, and then away. He didn't answer, but seemed to accept it. "How's your shoulder? I'll make you some salve for it."

Michael shrugged. "No need, I made some."

"You did? Good lad." There was a touch of pride in Howell's voice.

"It's not as strong as yours. I think I need to use fresher ginger? Ours has gone all woody." He rotated his arm. "And it didn't smell so good. We didn't have the camphor so I swapped it with that vapor leaf." The talk of magic made both of them smile and Howell felt that the worst of it was over. He hated for innocents to get hurt and if anyone in his home could be called innocent, it was Michael.

"Just so it worked." Howell looked around and Michael answered the unasked question.

"She's out in the garden. Cal- well, he's out there, too."

Howell crossed to the workbench as though that information didn't sting his chest so. "I have a few new spells for you to work on. Remember, they don't always read straight."

Michael rushed over, taking the papers up as soon as Howell put them down. "I thought I was supposed to start on power words?" His face fell once he saw Howell's look.

"Not yet." Howell could still remember the acidic taste of anger from the frustrated magic. Power words could wait. "These are important to our next project." He tapped the papers. "This one looks simple, but give it a shot--"

Michael's face was getting redder by the second and he interrupted Howell, "You don't want to teach me them, is that it? She's right about you, holding me back! Why don't you let me do anything?"

It was all Howell could do not to shake his student. "Who? Sophie? Damn her eyes!"

Michael looked startled for a second, surprised that he'd actually yelled at his teacher or at the conclusions jumped to, it wasn't clear to Howell. "No! I didn't mean that. She didn't, I mean Sophie never... My Lettie and I were... I shouldn't have... Aw, Hell." Michael turned and went into the bathroom, slamming the door. Howell felt a little sympathy for that poor door, then realized he sounded like Sophie and sighed. There was no way he could face Ingary today. Too many Hatters in it. He walked to the doorway and put his hand to the knob, intending to turn it to black. Instead he found purple coming up and he opened it onto the very scene he really didn't want to see. Sophie stood some distance away with her hand resting on the outstretched arm of Calcifer's human costume. They were looking into each other's eyes. They were too far away for him to hear words and there was some small comfort in that. Howell could only take so much pain in one morning. He closed the door and turned the knob for home.

Cymru. The land of the Red Dragon is home to what is left of the Britons. Howell's family had deep ties to the land and he felt the pull whenever he returned. Wales was a deeply religious culture and it was in the religion that the language was saved despite English attempts to crush it. His mother had once told him of a shadow queen, a witch, in their lineage, but his father took more pride in the works his ancestors did in the church and in politics to keep Welsh nationalism going. He looked around the cemetery as the rain drizzled down his jacket. With his hands in his pocket, he hunched down to look at the headstones. Generations were buried side by side in this ancient place. Power crackled here and there, but he let the knowledge of it slide through his mind. None of that mattered today, he hadn't come to dwell on the old ones. With a swipe of his hand over his mother's name, Howell rose. He made his way through the stones and shrubs until he came to his old car. He shied from most technology, but he'd rebuilt this engine with friends back in his school days. In fact, much of the car was cobbled together, and it ran like a charm. It turned over on the third try and he scowled to see how low the petrol had gotten. Well, it ran like a charm when it ran.

As he eased it into the garage at his sister's home, Howell heard the front door bang open. No one had been home when he'd first come back. It was summertime and Howell kept both calendars going in his head. Ingary and England both kept some of the same festival days and the Solstices and Equinoxes were the same, but many of the holidays varied and he couldn't keep track of the kid's school calendar on top of all of that. The schools in the UK ran year round with breaks, and he came back on a normal day. His heart had sunk when he realized his favorite little girl would be gone for hours, so he'd fished out his keys and went for a drive. Now he braced himself for his sister's fury. "Hylô! Shw mae, Megan?"

"Howell! Mae pen tost 'da fi. Paid siarad Cymraeg! Sorry to disappoint if you came to spoil Mari or bother her with your made up stories, but the kids won't be home for sometime. I don't imagine you've come here to see me. So why am I blessed with my little brother's presence?" She stepped back and waited while he locked up the garage, but seemed to be getting angrier as he didn't respond. "Don't you dare bring home that horrid woman! And no more of those charity cases either! When I told Gareth about her behavior--"

"Yeah, I know," Howell didn't need to hear how his brother in law took the Witch's attack. He turned back from the garage door. "Look, Megan, she wasn't... it wasn't like that, no matter what she said. She was unstable, yeah?" He paused, his newfound honesty battling against his nature. She wouldn't understand if he told her. "It's over now. I'm sorry she involved you."

"I was worried about you!" When Megan said it, it was like a reproach rather that a statement of concern. Her glare bore into him. "You're not well are you? You've gone mental, right? All that learning wasted. You're going loony. Oh, don't think you're moving back here, Howell! Gareth would blow a gasket!"

"No and no, Meg," he said, smiling and raising his hands in surrender. He pointed at the house, saying, "Cwrw?"

She stood staring at him for minutes that felt like hours. Finally she shrugged and stalked back to the front door of the little yellow house. He knew better than to think he'd been forgiven, but he was family and she wouldn't deny him a beer. He jingled the keys in his pocket as he walked, a silly, but reassuring tie to home. This was not the neighborhood he'd grown up in. That one was always so full of life. On a summer's day kids would swarm about, ganging up into teams to play ball or running off to find adventure. After their parents died, Megan and Gareth had him sell the old place so they could buy this new one. He never really liked these sorts of 'up and coming' communities. They sat on the edge of town and taunted it with how little they fit in, but Megan wanted a house here, felt that she deserved it, and he was pleased that she was happy. Like Howell, she'd made a new life. There was precious little to connect her to their old one inside. No pictures of their parents graced the mantle, though Gareth's family sat on a bookshelf, looking large and dour. Howell made himself at home in the TV room, listening to the clinking of glasses in the kitchen. She wasn't getting him a glass was she?

Megan indeed carried two glass pint mugs in one hand and two bottles in the other. Howell tried to read her face, but she kept it closed, keeping her emotions in check. She wasn't really a harridan, he knew he just brought out the best in her. "What's this, a fancy beer?" He read the label 'Imported from America.' He eyed it suspiciously and put the glass on the side table.

"Your problem is you don't know how to be grateful!" She started in on him and again he wondered how she could always be so wrong about what his problems were.

Howell interrupted her as she began her litany of his failures, "Meg, I've found the love of my life and now I may have blown my chances with her." Once she looked at him fully, he kept that eye contact, hoping to reach the girl who used to be his ally, his protector.

She looked serious, then blew a strand of dark hair away. "Always with the melodrama, Howell. I'm sure it isn't that dire. Tell me about her." She sipped her glass, obviously preparing for an amusing tale.

"Well, she's smart and talented," he began. "And she's stayed with me through some tough times..." He considered how to phrase things. "But... she has a meddling family and I think they've put things in her head, poisoned her against me a bit."

"What sorts of things?"

He hoped she wouldn't laugh. "They think I might be a bit... fickle." Howell tried to put on a hurt face, but her laughter, once going, was infectious. "Yeah, I know," he sputtered between laughs. His heart lightened to see her happy, even if it was at his expense. His sister had to grow up young and she seemed to overdo it, the same way she did everything.

"You," she said. "You are receiving your just desserts, boy!" She pointed a slender finger at him and laughed again. "How many women in this town would love to hear you say those words! It's an embarrassment how you behave." She stopped herself, as if she could say more about it, but was waiting for him to respond. To cover for it, she reached for her knitting bag next to the couch.

"That was years ago," Howell said softly, taking a swig of the tasteless beer. He didn't want to think about apologizing to half the population of Wales in addition to Ingary.

"Oh, the school teacher? Was that years ago, Howell? And why is it after dating you she skipped town? Everyone just loves to tell me and Gareth about how you carry on! But you just skip away, happy as a lark." Her eyes narrowed and he had to admit that it did look pretty damning. Her needles clicked in a familiar way before he answered.

There wasn't much he could say against it either. "She wasn't quite what she claimed to be," was the best he could manage.

"Oh, but don't let me stop you. This woman you're "magically" in love with, in what, a week or so? She doesn't love you, then?"

He shook his head sadly. "No, that's not it. She loves me fine. But, there's others, see. They... well there's another bloke who lives with us, and she's... I don't know." It was too complicated to get into and Howell wished he hadn't come at all.

"Does this woman have a name?" Megan's voice was soft, as if she understood some of the hurt he felt.

"Sophie Hatter," he sighed. Tears began to creep to his eyes in the silence. What would he do if she preferred Calcifer? He didn't have to make another monkey suit for the demon, that was one thing. How would she like it if her lover was a ball of fire... he sighed. Somehow, he didn't think that was the real problem. She didn't prefer Calcifer, she just didn't prefer Howell. 'Not yet?'! What the Hell did that mean? Belatedly he noticed the knitting had stopped. His sister rose stiffly.

"You're welcome to stay a little longer, but I want you gone before Gareth gets home." There was fury in her voice and it took him by surprise. "I don't appreciate your elaborate jokes, Howell. I've been the butt of them too many times."

"Jokes?"

"That doddy old woman you live with? That's the Sophie you want me to believe you're all broken up over? Ha, ha. There, I've laughed. Now if you'll excuse me, I'm going to weed the backyard."

"No, Megan, no! She is, I mean, that's not... that was her aunt..." By this time the back door had swung shut and he was talking to himself. "Damn." He picked up his beer, but after thinking about it, walked to the kitchen and poured it out. The kitchen was the only room in the house, aside from the master bath, that didn't have carpeting. Howell preferred his own cozy castle to this place and decorated it, in so far as he had, sparingly in direct contrast to his sister's home. In fact, his whole life was pretty much in direct contrast to hers. She was a materialistic, ambitious, undereducated shrew, he thought angrily. Megan had married her first boyfriend, a lout of a man, after getting pregnant in school, throwing away her learning, throwing away the future her parents had hoped for her. Howell usually tried not to judge her so harshly, but it was hard when she spent so much of her time judging him harshly.

He heard the front door swing open and his brother in law's voice bellowed out, "Megan!" Howell considered fleeing out the back door, but then he heard the cheerful voice of his niece call out "Mam!" and he decided he might as well stay. Megan came in the from the back and he stayed in the kitchen letting her break his presence to her husband. He knew she mentioned him because Mari came flying into the room, nearly bowling him over with a tackle hug. "Wncwl!" He also heard the raising tone of adult voices and with a look of agreement, both he and Mari snuck out to the backyard. It had been a drizzly day, but neither one of them cared if the swings were a bit wet.

He looked up at the window that he used in the moving castle. Of course it wasn't a two way thing. Here it was just a window and he couldn't see if anyone on the other side knew or cared where he was. He pushed her as she chattered on about what was happening in her life. She gamely tried to push him in the swing, though he made himself too heavy for her to move. She turned her attention to a small patch of weeds where she was trying to grow a garden and he forced some blooms to see her smile. It made him think of Sophie though and when he grew serious, Mari asked why.

"You remember the woman I brought with me the last time?"

Mari shivered and he reached for her hand. " Mae ofn hi arna' i," she said.

Howell smiled a little sadly. "Not her, but there's need for fear on you, cariad. That witch's dead now."

"Did you kill her?" she asked, her eyes wide and shining.

After a moment, he nodded. "With some help. She was a very bad person."

"What about the hen wrach?" she gasped. "Did you turn her young again?"

He nodded. At this age, Mari probably thought his stories were exotic and exciting, but she never doubted his truthfulness. "She's beautiful," he said and felt a stab of sadness in his chest. Mari hugged him. He heard the screen door creak open and Megan came out first, wringing her hands in front of her. Gareth loomed up behind her, his hair lit like a halo from the kitchen light behind. Mari tore across the yard to jump into his arms. The two men exchanged looks and Gareth nodded to Howell. Megan looked like she'd snap in two if the wind blew in too hard.

"Won't you stay for dinner, Howell?" Gareth asked, although with his size, most anything he said sounded like a demand. Mari turned to look at her uncle and pleaded with him. Neil appeared, sweaty from cricket practice and Megan chided him. After looking up at the window, Howell agreed.

Conversation centered on the kids and how their day went. Mari was chided to speak English since her father didn't understand Welsh. Neil said he hadn't beaten the computer game yet, but was close and could he have another? Megan promptly sent him up to do homework and clean up for bed. She was a fair cook, but Howell barely tasted the food he ate. He thought of Sophie and how he should alter the hearth in his new design so she could do more interesting cooking. She was creative and might appreciate that. Without meaning to, he sighed deeply. Megan looked at Gareth and the large man cleared his throat. "Fancy joining me down at the pub, Howell?"

He smiled. So she was worried about him! "Thanks, but no. I'd better head home." Of course he didn't want to go home, but he could hardly tell Gareth that he'd rather gnaw his own arm off than share a pint with the man.

Gareth reached a meaty hand across the table, clouting Howell's shoulder and Megan grabbed Mari to clear the table. "Look, Howell," his brother in law said in as soft a voice as he was able. "We don't always get on, but if you need a place to stay..." He spread his hands out and shrugged. "Just say the word. You know, when you're not here I've only Meg to fight with."

Howell sat back, not knowing what to say. He could hear his sister and niece doing the washing up. It might not be that bad to come home. He missed the land, the language, the people, but could he live without Ingary? Without magic? Without Sophie? "Thanks for the offer, Gareth." Howell shook his head. "I hope not to need to. Still, if the pub offer's open... any games on tonight?"

His brother in law nodded, a smile splitting his face. "Cup's on and cricket I think. You up for going out after all?"

Howell nodded and Gareth laughed. The noise seemed to be the cue for the family. Neil came downstairs and Megan and Mari finished and came in. Gareth rose. He waited by the door for Howell to say his goodbyes to Megan and the kids.

"Nos da, wncwl!" Mari said. He kissed her forehead and rubbed noses with her before shaking his nephew's hand and thanking his sister. Megan looked at her husband and brother as if the idea of the two of them alone was a recipe for disaster. Howell wasn't sure about it himself, but the offer of alcohol was one he wouldn't pass up. Not today.

As Howell eased the door to the moving castle closed, quietly as he could, he was feeling comfortably pissed. Not drunk, nothing so base, just humming along in a pleasant way. He wasn't able to hold his liquor that well, truth be told. Especially not when he was in the company of a giant of a man who viewed every activity to be a competition. Howell's mood was sanguine, relaxed and that proved to useful, since the thing he wanted most, to enter his home unnoticed, was not to happen. Instead he walked straight into Calcifer and Sophie. "Ah," he said.

"Howell, we have to talk," Sophie started.

Strangely, Howell thought, people never 'have to talk' about nice things. "Could we talk in the morning, my love?" he asked hopefully.

"You've got this all wrong, Howl," Calcifer said. His usual caustic tone just didn't sound the same coming from a human mouth, Howell considered.

"How's that shell holding out?" he asked. It wasn't designed to last long. He'd give anything to see how the Witch of the Waste had built Miss Angorian's version. Either it was done differently or the materials were better since she lasted weeks in Wales, which was pretty difficult for a magical creature.

"Oh, fine. I think there's some stress lines and I expect to see myself come leaking out any day, but it's still working for now." Calcifer stretched his arms out and looked down to his hands, first one side, then the other. Howell was proud of his distraction and was nearly to the stairs.

"Howl," Sophie said. Her voice was gentle, but that made it all the worse for Howell. He stopped and looked at her. "There's nothing between us. Nothing at all."

Howell's heart stopped. He put a hand up to it and wondered if that was a normal thing for a heart to do. Probably not, he decided, but before he could panic it began again. "Nothing?" Just a few days ago he had it all mapped out. This little family would sail off toward its happily ever after... He was solid in her love for him, and now- nothing?

Calcifer nodded his head eagerly. He walked up and took Sophie's hand, patting it absently. She dropped his when she noticed Howell staring. She walked away, back to her chair by the hearth, and he was left with an emptiness. Luckily the effect of the ale anesthetizing his senses was enough to keep him from a cursing mood, but he felt a touch of melodrama coming on. "Well, thank you for the notice," he said.

"I bought you this," Sophie walked back holding out a parcel, but Howell felt too numb to take it. She stood for a second, then untied the strings and pulled back the paper for him. "It's from a new shop in Kingsbury and everyone says the sleeves are very much in style." Howell saw a peek of blue and white cloth. "I'll do the fitting for you," she said, then blushed. "Or, um I suppose you can do it for yourself."

A silence fell on the room as Howell nodded, but made no other acknowledgment of the gift. It was bought with the reward money, no doubt, but she had worked without any compensation, so Howell assumed it was fair. Plus, she'd spent it on him. It wouldn't kill him to thank her, but he couldn't get his mouth to form the words.

Calcifer turned to Sophie, whispering, "Why isn't he happy?" She shook her head. "Howl, why aren't you happy?" he asked. "You thought we were doing those things, but we're not. We wanted you to be jealous, so you wouldn't stop loving Sophie."

"What!" Howell bellowed. He had to think that the alcohol had befuddled his mind. Had Calcifer and Sophie really plotted behind his back to toy with him? With his feelings? The parts of his mind that still functioned went into overdrive, trying to sort through the myriad levels of hurt. Yes, he'd lept to the wrong conclusion. Fine. She still loved him. But... "Why in heaven's name did you do something as asinine as that! Hell's Teeth! Will no one trust me? You!" Howell pointed at the fire demon. "You orchestrated this whole thing, didn't you? Damn your eyes!" He thought of Gareth's comment about having someone other than his wife to argue with and he pulled himself back. Calcifer was a demon, he couldn't understand human emotions, even if the look on the human shell's face was testimony to his ability to feel some of them.

He turned to Sophie, still holding the parcel and a look of shame. "And you! Why don't you think? How much clearer could I have made it? I will not ask you to share my life again!"

"I do," Sophie said quickly. "I want to."

"Well I don't!" Howell shouted. "My whole family against me? I thought it was bad enough that your people were meddling with us, but you? Both of you? Take my damned heart back out, why don't you! I don't want it anymore!" He stomped upstairs and into his own room. He tore his bookshelf apart to find the little booklet on calming techniques for wizards and witches. It was an elementary text in his training, but he was glad he'd held on to it. It would take more than counting backwards, that much was certain.

000O000

Language disclaimer: Welsh is the oldest of the Celtic languages in use today. It is a beautiful and difficult language and I've done the best I can, but as a non-native speaker, errors will occur. Feel free to alert me to any that you find. Pronunciation isn't always what you'd expect and there are letters that don't have an equal in English. You can find many good resources on the web. I particularly like the BBC's for information on learning the language. If I've missed any translations, let me know.

I'd have had Mari and Howell speak strictly in Welsh, but that would make things tough on both the writer and the readers who are likely to be non-native speakers, so I opted to do it this way. In Wales, the kids are learning the language in school but it's still a struggle for the survival of Welsh.

Cymru: Wales

Hylô! Shw mae, Megan: Hello! How's things, Megan

Mae pen tost 'da fi: I have a headache

Paid siarad Cymraeg!: Don't speak Welsh!

Cwrw: Beer

Wncwl: Uncle

Cariad: Beloved

Mae ofn hi arna' i: I'm afraid of her

Hen wrach: old woman (crone)

Nos da, wncwl: Good bye, uncle


	8. Chapter 8

Author's note and disclaimer:

This is based on the book, but with a more mature concept of Howl's courting of young ladies and his moral code.

One major mistake (of mine) I've noted is that in the book, Howell goes back to blond after the funeral and makes a Hamlet joke to boot so my story starting out with him still black haired is incorrect. Anything else you note, feel free to comment on. Reviews are most welcome and I'm pleased that you're enjoying this story.

I do not own anything and write out of love of the story, not to benefit from Diana Wynne Jones' work.

000**O**000

**Chapter 8**

_In which Howell comes to an understanding_

Ingary is a land of natural beauty and the view outside of the Wizard Howl's moving castle was no exception. The steep sloping hills and flower dotted valleys glistened and glittered in the morning sun. The aforementioned wizard was not aware of it. It would be a mistake to say he slept through it, however, as he hadn't slept much at all the night before. Instead he kept his nose to the grindstone, drawing and plotting out something quite massive. He'd ignored several knocks on his door since dawn, several calls to come sit for breakfast and the sound of concerned voices holding meetings outside his door. He intended to ignore all other attempts to get his attention as well.

"Howl?" He heard Sophie's voice at his door again. "There's a messenger here to see you." Sophie waited, but so did he. "Um, should I send him away?"

He had to answer that, couldn't have her sending away paying work. "Do what we always do, woman! He's a damn messenger. Take his message and send him on his way." He heard her snort and listened to her footsteps as she went back down the stairs. Howell stood, feeling empty and in need of a bath. He gathered his notes and kicked through the mess of blankets on the floor to find his clothes for the day. With a few spells, they should look fine again. He was just gathering them in his arms when he heard knocking again.

"Howl?" Michael's voice came through. "Can I come in?"

Howell felt he owed it to the boy and he was curious about the message, so he released the charms on the door and sat on the bed to wait.

Michael entered with a tray in his arms, laden with food Howell was unlikely to eat and on the side, a roll of new parchment. He followed Howell's gaze and shrugged as he set the tray down on the corner of the bed, leaning up against one of the side posts. "Sophie's, uh, idea," he said. Howell gave a short grunt of acknowledgment and took the parchment. It was what he expected.

"Did you have a go at the spells?" He set the paper down and looked over the food. There were some cream puffs that looked interesting. Without compunction, he took one pastry and devoured it. Its sweet filling clung to his mouth and chin as he realized that the boy hadn't answered. He glanced up, setting the second treat down to focus on Michael. The teen was clearly uncomfortable and he doubted it was due to his state of dishabille. Howell raised an eyebrow. "Well?"

Michael shifted his feet, unable to meet his teacher's eyes. Howell waited. Michael cleared his throat and, as if he were the adult speaking with a foolish child, he said, "Howl, this is insane. You and she... You haven't been yourself since she came, really. First it was the curse, and now this sulking, it's too much. Look at you! I don't understand--"

Howell jumped in, "What you don't understand is everything, Michael! Martha's your first girlfriend. I can't count how many I've had." He watched Michael steam up over this.

"First! She's my one and only!"

Howell raised his hands and signaled Michael to lower his volume as he went on, "But I've never been in love before and..." He thought of the words he wanted and was pleased that Michael calmed down enough to listen. "And she's not making it any easier. She's been trying to manipulate me. I don't care if it's because of others; she's had the chance to show her love for me and she's failed. I don't want to lose her, but... what can I do?" He turned away from the plate of food. His apprentice stood with his mouth open. Howell shrugged and began to dress. They had several projects to start. He grabbed a piece of paper off of the floor and pushed it into Michael's hands. "Go make sure we have enough of these on hand. I'd hate to be halfway through and run out." He looked at the slight blush on the boy's face. "You did look at the spells, didn't you? No? Well, don't stand there looking guilty, we've got work to do!" He smiled a bright grin at him. No harm done, he could do this part alone really and the boy would get up to speed quickly enough. As Michael assured him that he'd go see to the supplies, Howell stood and held the tray of food out for him. "I appreciate that you care Michael, but please don't get involved. I've got enough meddlers to deal with right now." He waited for the boy to leave before transporting himself to the bathroom to shower and freshen up for the day. Another hot day, he guessed.

Grumbling greeted him as he emerged from his morning routine. He ignored Calcifer who stopped his complaints to Michael at the first sign of Howell. "Work!" Howell shouted and Michael ran to follow him outside. From the size of the King's order, he guessed that the negotiations with Strangia weren't going well. Howell hated war, but his main concern was with keeping the death toll down, at least on Ingary's side. Not much he could do about the other chaps. The metal he and Michael wove through spell work and grunt work should help those on the front line. Just as he never used love spells when dating, he didn't use his home world's methods to helter skelter bring in technology. If he couldn't do it by magic, he didn't do it. When the solution to strengthening and lightening the metals came to him, he saw several uses, none of them for war. But, thanks to Sophie, the King wanted new chest armor for his soldiers and Howell would do it. He doubted Ben could do anything on this scale! The day got hotter and hotter as they worked out in the sun and finally Michael asked for a break.

Another solution, this one to a personal problem, had presented itself to Howell's mind. It was... unpleasant. Manipulative at its best, reprehensible at its worst and most likely to blow up in his face. Still, it was in motion and he had to see it through. He was more comfortable dealing with spells than with feelings any day! Howell went inside and up the stairs to the flower shop. Sophie, in her pretty blue dress, was sweeping up petals and taking an order for a future party from a pleasant looking woman in the dull, provincial dress typical of Market Chipping. He swooped in. "Good day to you," he smiled and the customer blushed as he knew she would. Sophie snorted and bent to sweep the debris into her dustbin. "You look like a beautiful rosebud today." He pulled a pink rose from the air in front of the woman and she gasped as he handed it to her. Ignoring Sophie, he went behind the counter and pulled out a quill and paper. "Do you mind if I write your order down? I don't want us to forget a detail and ruin a perfectly lovely party." She willingly repeated her order, inflating as Howell's eyebrow raised here and there as she didn't seem to want him to think she was skimping.

He pulled the blinds and put out the sign that they were closed once he'd escorted the woman out the door. Sophie rounded on him as he locked up. "What was that all about? I don't forget details!"

Howell beamed at her. "Of course not, darling Sophie, but I do and you know Michael is so distracted these days with his lady love." He took her elbow and began to guide her toward the castle entrance. She looked at him oddly, but he kept up a cheerful countenance and she seemed disinclined to upset that. As they came out into the main hall, Howell let her go, but moved to her sleeping area, still bare since the destruction of his sheets. He turned to her. "Will you need help with packing, my dear? You can always come back to collect anything you may have forgotten, but I won't have your mother thinking we're stealing your belongings." He pulled a suitcase out of thin air and set it on the cot. All eyes in the room were on him and he looked around to see confusion in all of them. "Well?" His grin broadened as Sophie didn't move. "Shall I help you, then?" He began to call various items of hers out of the workroom and packed them himself when they arrived. Boxes, ribbons and clothing bobbed across the room as if on parade.

To add to the festivities, the sound of knocking began. "Mansion door," Calcifer called out. Michael ran to it, a pair of socks falling over his shoulder as he interrupted the flow of garments. Howell ignored the entryway as he concentrated on his task.

"S-stop," she stuttered. Her voice sounded weak, not at all like the feisty girl he loved and Howell might have listened to her, but for the next voice that he heard.

"Howl! What do you think you're doing?" Calcifer was still in the hearth, his blue face flickering with emotion.

"Packing. Sophie here is going back to her family today. There's really nothing keeping her here now and here is her mother now." He kept his back to the room as Fanny entered, followed by a silent Michael. A small triumph, Howell thought. Perhaps he trusted his mentor to do the right thing or perhaps he was just too tired?

Sophie whispered, "Why?" but Howell pretended his excellent hearing had failed and ignored her. Fanny came to stand next to Sophie, putting her arm around the girl's shoulder and telling her how happy she was that her step daughter had changed her mind.

"What about her training?" Calcifer challenged.

"What about it? She doesn't want to listen to me." He turned to face the women as they stood by the table, the parade of Sophie's belongings having having stopped. "Do you, Mrs. Knows-it-all? Perhaps you can drop by for lessons on ethics, though. You have some odd notions about that." Howell waved an arm dismissively and turned back to the bed with the suitcase on it. He heard Sophie sit down heavily. He smiled to himself. She was taking this as he'd hoped she would.

Calcifer couldn't let it drop. "Howl, you idiot! You can't kick Sophie out. Who'll clean the hearth, huh? Who'll take care of us?"

"Kick her out?" Fanny cried. "Why, she doesn't need any more of your abuse!"

Howell turned back again. He didn't dislike Fanny at all. She was rather beautiful, perhaps a decade older than Howell and she took care to always look her best, but that special anger she held for him soured his view of her. "I believe you're overcompensating, Mrs. Smith. The years of abuse you heaped on her as an unpaid worker are being confused with a few month's work that I never asked her to do." He was careful to keep his tone cool, his demeanor soft. There wasn't much chance of his plan actually working, but if it did, he would someday want her on his side. No hope of that today, however as she seemed to be torn between tearing out of the castle and tearing him apart. Michael was watching with concern on his face, but was uncharacteristically quiet. Sophie's face was hidden in her hands and Calcifer flared up and down the chimney with anger. Fanny's indecision gave him the opportunity to answer Calcifer, "Funny thing about that, Calcifer... There's really nothing keeping you here either. Perhaps you can find work with another wizard?" He walked over to the mirror on the workbench, all eyes following him as he pulled the fabric off of it, but didn't attempt to contact anyone, it was understood. "Imagine the fun you can have powering up Mrs. Fairfax's honey spells or maybe Ben can use you from time to time? I'm sure we can find you a nice placement, but as you've pointed out on many occasions, I've been so beastly to you. It's high time for you to take a break. If you like, perhaps Michael and I can whip up a second shell for you to use, now and then." He smiled. Thin purple lips curled into a sneer as the fire demon digested Howell's words.

"You? Kicking me out? This place is my home! I built this place!" He didn't sound hurt, although Howell knew there was some of that, but primarily he sounded disbelieving. The logs hissed and popped with emotion. "I don't need another monkey suit. I'm done with trying to be like you guys; it's too confusing!" He towered up, his face in a demonic fury from the hearth to the chimney. "I'm the best thing you got going on, Howell! Your power--"

"Will do just fine for us. I have some plans outside for a flying castle, inspired by you, Sophie dear. How else can I hope to visit all the nice girls I have to apologize to? Michael and I will manage perfectly well now that we're not trying to dodge the Witch or avoid the King. Really, I'm surprised you're not both ecstatic." He paused, trying to decide how thick to lay it on.

Calcifer roared, "A flying castle? Without me! I don't see how you think--"

Howell interrupted the demon, saying calmly, "I think everyone's getting just a bit out of sorts. It must be the heat. Don't you think it's hot out, Michael?"

"Uh, yeah. Sure?" The boy leaned against the wall, uncertain what role he was supposed to play.

"Well, it's too hot to ask Sophie to carry her own bags. Here, come and take these out to the carriage for her." Howell held up the suitcase and a small bag. She had very little when she came, but had somehow expanded her stuff in the few short months. Michael approached tentatively, knowing Calcifer was glaring and Sophie sobbing into her stepmother's hug.

"No." The little gray mouse from Market Chipping whispered the word at first, then she said it again with slightly more volume. Michael stepped back, bags in hand.

"What was that? You'll have to speak up," Howell said as he prepared a shield, just in case.

"I said, no!" She stood next to Fanny and put her hands on her hips. "You aren't kicking me out!" Fanny patted her back and told her that it was for the best. She signaled Michael to come, but he stood watching Howell and Sophie.

"Of course I'm not. Nothing of the sort," Howell lied. "But you must admit, unless you want me to hire you as my cleaning lady officially, there's nothing keeping you under my roof." He realized he'd stepped over the line when he saw the hurt on her face. His smile faltered. "Perhaps you should tell your mother the real reason you want to stay?" He waited as she grew red in the face.

Sophie turned to Calcifer first, but the fire, back to normal size now, effectively shrugged. His flame flickered and his eyes were large, but he had no help for her. She then turned to Howell again, "I don't know what you mean," she said defiantly.

A heart is a great burden and Howell's gave a quick squeeze, maybe as a reminder that it was there. He kept his hand from moving to it though and schooled his face to keep a nonchalant expression. "You've had so many chances," he said. His voice held more sadness than he would've liked. He covered it with a more aggressive tone. "Why! Tell her! Tell me."

Fanny tried to hold Sophie again, saying that they should just go and leave him alone. As Howell predicted, that didn't go down well. Sophie drew strength in the form a deep breath and, looking at her hands, whispered, "I love him." The room went deathly silent. It wasn't the way he'd want a declaration of love made, but it had to be done. "There," she spat the word at him, her eyes searching his face. "Are you happy?"

Howell had to admit that he was, in an odd sort of way. It gave him hope, having it in the open like that. He couldn't show it, of course, because running to her now would ruin all the work he'd gone through to get her to the point she so effortlessly got him to all of the time. He kept his expression blank.

She flinched away. "I'm sorry, Howl," she said softly. "I didn't mean to hurt you. Believe me, I am sorry." She reached for Fanny's hand and started toward the door.

Howell couldn't keep his laugh out of his voice, "Apology accepted, Sophie Hatter." He saw her back stiffen and she stopped walking, her hand held in midair as her stepmother tried to keep going. "And you know how I feel?" Not turning around, she nodded her head. "Say it," he demanded.

Choking back a sob, Sophie started, "You don't ever love a girl once she loves you back."

This time Howell couldn't stop himself and he flew across the room, startling Fanny as he spun Sophie to face him. "Is that what all of this has been about?" he asked, incredulously. "Calcifer? Is this what you've been telling her?" There was no anger in his voice, just astonishment. The fire had no time to answer before Howell asked, "How could you think that, Sophie?" He lifted her chin so that he could see her pretty blue gray eyes. "I can never stop loving you, cariad!" He placed a soft kiss on her lips, watching her eyes widen and then close as she kissed him back, a smile at the edge of her mouth.

Fanny cleared her throat. Howell and Sophie pulled back from their kiss, but kept gazing at one another, the magic from Midsummer's Day seemingly back for them both. "While I don't want to speak out of place, I would like to point out that it is still unseemly for you to stay here, Sophie."

Howell's face fell and he said apologetically, "I said I wouldn't ask you again."

Calcifer found his voice as well. "If she goes, I will too, Howell. She's the best thing that's happened here since Michael moved in."

Michael laughed and put down Sophie's bags that he'd held during all of the drama. Howell and Sophie both turned to him. "Well, in the common way, you guys are already married." Even the crackling of the fire was silent for a moment. "Um, if you wanted to be, I guess," he said hesitantly. Everyone stared at him as he went on. "It's like my folks... you know, sometimes people wait months to do the ceremony, but as long as you tell an official your intent and you live under the same roof, you know... um, consummating. It's the way people do." The teen blushed bright red, but his embarrassment wasn't noticed as Howell and Sophie looked at each other. Michael forced himself to go on, "I think the King counts as an official and you guys have... well, the other morning when Sophie came out of your room. I thought you knew--"

He wasn't able to complete the thought. Sophie shouted, "Race you!" and was gone up the stairs. Her stepmother stood in her wake, mouth open. Fanny shook her head in disbelief before leaving.

Realization crossed Howell's face and he blinked out of the living room, appearing at the top of the stairs and catching Sophie up in his arms. "Cariad," he whispered from under a shower of her kisses. "Are you sure?"

She nodded and looked into his eyes. "I love you, Howl, and I want our happily ever after. I don't need any rings or ceremonies. I want to make you happy." She pulled him into a kiss and he laughed at her need which so resembled his own.

"Rwy'n dy garu di, Sophie. I love you," he said before pulling her into his room.

Downstairs in the living area, Calcifer shrugged his way into his human costume and turned to Michael. "Close your mouth before you catch flies, kid. I think a walk is in order. Grab the boots. I think we can get a room at an inn I know."

000O000

All reviews are appreciated and can be sent to me over fan fic's PM as well. Thanks to the best reviews in the world! I hope this redo of the final chapter is less abrupt than the first version. If you see other ways this story can be improved, feel free to message me here or at the conesoldstober community on lj.

A/N:Language disclaimer: Welsh is the oldest of the Celtic languages in use today. It is a beautiful and difficult language and I've done the best I can, but as a non-native speaker, errors will occur. Feel free to alert me to any that you find. Pronunciation isn't always what you'd expect and there are letters that don't have an equal in English. You can find many good resources on the web. I particularly like the BBC's for information on learning the language. If I've missed any translations, let me know.

Cariad: Beloved

Rwy'n dy garu di: I love you

There is a lemony version at aff, but it is a slightly different story and definitely adult.


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